Quill and Ink
by aiedailweasley
Summary: When your life depends upon something, you'll do anything to save it.   there may be some html issues, i apologize ! i'll fix it eventually
1. Chapter 1

I stared like always at the back of his head.

It would never be less beautiful. Golden blond, some ashy streaks, some white-blond.

iIf I could just get a lock of that hair/i, I thought lazily, my eyes drooping, ithen I could.../i

Could what? What would adding a lock of hair to a sleeping draught do?

I suddenly perked up. What iwould it do?/i

I looked around, suddenly suspicious that someone had noticed my inspiration. Also, I worried that someday, someone would notice the way I stared. I looked to look for prying eyes as I took my wand from the pocket in my robes. I raised it in the air and with a quick flick of my wrist, cut a lock of hair from his head. "iAccio lockofhair,/i" I whispered, placing my wand under my desk, pointed at him. The hair flew to me quickly, soaring through the room at about half of the height of the tables, and I was surprised that no one noticed. I held out my hand, crouched down in my seat to catch it. It fluttered into place in the cup of my palm. It was soft. Silky. I rubbed it with the pad of my thumb. iThis is the first and only time I will feel his hair,/i I thought.

I straightened up quickly, my eyes popping out of their sockets. I craned my neck around Albus's head, to see the back of the golden fleece. Well not fleece. More like corn silk.

I cupped a hand to my mouth. There was a large, noticeable chunk gone from the back of his hair. Well, I couldn't be expected to perfect the spell in a couple of seconds, silently on top of that, could I? Actually, maybe that's what the spell was supposed to do. I guess there's some uncertainty about making up spells on the spot and performing them silently. Uncertainty pertaining to the amount of hair lopped off.

I looked up quickly to see if Old Professor Slughorn was looking in my direction. Usually it was a positive thing that he could tell when something was going wrong; he'd show up at your elbow just as you measured out the powdered scarab wings and stop you at the precise moment you were about to tip them in, or he'd grab your hand and help you stir in the right direction. But I didn't want him to show up and grab the chunk of hair out of my hand, did I? He'd have so many questions.

iHow did you get this chunk of hair, Rose?/i

Well, I sort of just...you know...swish, lop, accio...

iWhy did you want this chunk of hair, Rose?/i

Well, you know...?

iNo, I don't know, Rose./i

(That's unfortunate.) Here, have some crystallized pineapple. (I would proffer him a tray I procured out of thin air [I know, I know, not possible] and shake it around in front of his mustache, and he would delightedly drop the chunk of hair as he reached for his favourite candy. I would stoop and snatch up the hair before anyone else could notice it.)

But he wasn't looking. I felt small beads of perspiration quivering on my nose. I hastily wiped them off with my arm and while doing so discreetly dropped in the chunk of hair.

The potion, which should have been the "hue of ripe juniper berries" seemed to flare up in the middle, creating a small mountain range, and I could almost see a small road winding through all of the peaks-but before I could look very closely, the mountains collapsed with a iblurp!/i and the potion turned a very deep, cerulean blue. I thought this was convenient, since if anyone happened to look over, they might think I'd just done a step wrong in the process. It's not like it was bright pink or anything, like Trevor's over there.

Everyone else's cauldron seemed to be emitting a sort of steam that smelled like vanilla beans and made people's eyes droop, a sort of less potent version of their potions. Mine did not smell of vanilla, but something a little spicier, and didn't make me feel sleepy. The room was full of sleepy people, which I thought was sort of dangerous as this was a very complicated potion to brew, and you had to add in the exact amount to strokes and ingredients after the right amount of strokes to the left and to the right...Or maybe it was just like every other potion and it was complicated mainly because everyone was so sleepy while they were doing it? That's why it was so hard to brew it correctly, since no one could really-

"Rose?" Professor Slughorn's voice queried from over my shoulder. I jumped, splashing a small droplet of the potion out of my cauldron. It sailed down to the wooden table top, and both Professor Slughorn and I bent down to watch it. When it hit the surface, it bounced back up in the shape of a wave, and then proceeded to break and flow, before it disappeared.

I bit my lip, looking out of the corner of my eye at Professor Slughorn. His eyes were pressed closed.

"Erm..." I said, at a loss.

"I don't really want to know," he said. He was actually quite used to this sort of thing; I could rarely do a potion twice without doing something differently the second time. I saw his eyes flicker up to the back of Scorpius's head. He sighed. "The thing about you is, while everyone else simply wonders what would happen, you actually want to iknow/i." He grinned suddenly, and I felt a wave of relief sweep over my midsection, which had been caught up in knots. "I was going to ask to use a flask of yours for the demonstration, since I have my doubts that anyone else has managed the draught correctly...but, well, I'll try Molly's, then, won't I?" And he shuffled over to the other side of the table, where my best friend Molly sat, slumped onto the table, her auburn curls splayed over her face.

I looked down at my potion while Professor Slughorn shook Molly awake and took a sample from her potion, which looked as if she'd made it right, but had probably added some peppermint, from what I could smell. Molly didn't like to do things by the book, either, not after the first time we made a potion.

Professor Slughorn waddled away from the table, muttering under his breath. "Shouldn't ask them to do a potion they did once in fifth year, should I? No more repeats...new textbooks..."

Molly was no longer snoring. She had straightened up and was adjusting her robes, wiping a small bit of drool off of her cheek. She looked at me and grinned mischievously. "Did you smell that when he walked by?"

"Peppermint?"

She nodded, her light brown eyes bright. "And something else..."

I felt my brow knit together. I hadn't smelled anything else...Unless-

"Apple?" I asked nervously, looking up at Slughorn as he stirred the contents of the flask. Apple was undetectable in smell and sight, but sometimes had interesting effects on the drinker. Last time she added it, it had produced a cycle of near-invincibility in Trevor Longbottom, who had been the victim of a testing of a healing potion last spring. We usually found that when we added certain ingredients, they would take on their symbolic effect. Rose petals created a period of luck in romance, or romantic feeling. Apples, however, were so widely interpreted that they seemed to enhance the effects of the potion's intended ones.

iSo I wonder/i, I thought briefly, iwhat hair will do in a sleeping draught?/i

Professor Slughorn seemed to smell the peppermint in the potion after a few suspicious stirs, and vanished the flask, announcing to the class that there was no real need to test it out, since he could tell from the vapors that they were constructed properly, "more or less."

I suddenly leapt up in my chair, conjuring a jug from the storage pantry and pouring the whole of the cauldron's contents into it. If it was bad, I'd toss the lot out, as well as if it turned out to be a regular sleeping draught. But if it had good qualities, I wouldn't want to have thrown it out, would I?

The bell rang and we all shoved our cauldrons and ingredients into the cupboards under our desks before streaming out the door. I ended up somewhere close to Scorpius, who was scratching the back of his head. I swallowed guiltily, trying to inch further away from him as his fingers traced the blunt end of hair where the chunk was missing. His face looked confused. I burst out of the door and ran up the corridor, where Molly caught up with me, gasping for breath. She was small and it took more out of her to navigate through the crowd.

"What was that for?" She demanded, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"Nothing, I just hate being stuck in crowds."

She squinted at me-we were actually about the same height, I was only a couple inches taller-and I shrugged, trying to look innocent. She rolled her eyes, giving up. I smiled widely, unable to help myself. By this point in our friendship, she'd seemed to have realised that there were just some things I didn't tell anyone.

iNot that I'm secretive/i, I thought as I hiked my bag higher up on my shoulder. It was heavy with the jug of mystery potion.

Molly and I headed up to the Gryffindor tower to spend our break period roasting things on the fire. We happened to be the only ones, besides Albus, who had this period free. I sometimes wished that Scorpius did. Maybe we'd had been friends, even if we had only been in school for a couple weeks. I was pretty shy, but after a while I would have cracked under the pressure of his deep blue gaze. Right?

But what makes you think he would want to be friends with you? What makes you think that he wouldn't spend his brake periods in the library, studying, like you should be? What makes you think he wouldn't go up to his dormitory and catch up on sleep? What makes you think he'd befriend a Weasley?

Well he's decent friends with Albus, isn't he? I mean, if he shouldn't want to be friends with someone, it should be with a Potter, right?

No, but Dad did seem to hate his dad more than Uncle Harry, didn't he? Ugh. I mean, I've always imagined us as star-crossed lovers, and that he knew that too, and that's why he's never said anything to me, he knows it's hopeless (I won't ever admit to myself that he just doesn't want to be friends), so he hasn't wanted to get his hopes up but that's all I've ever done, I've only ever hoped that those glances meant he wanted to be friends and he was just too shy but he has his own friends and his own smiles and nothing about them has anything to do with me while I find myself smiling while I'm thinking about his own and I love his laugh and his innocent face-

You know it's been an infuriating journey hasn't it I mean all this waiting and then thinking oh it'll happen this time he'll ask me to this ball (completely bonkers you are, Rose! you just don't know each other!) this time he'll introduce himself I mean isn't five years enough time to be shy? and now we're in sixth year. There is no war. There are no Dark wizards to worry about. The only thing to worry about is who I will meet, and who I can decide to love.

Love? Isn't that a strong word? Haven't you promised yourself never to use it in regards to boys you don't know? Haven't you promised yourself to be absolutely sure that you mean it before you say it? It's a heavy word, Rose, don't throw it lightly. Get a hold of yourself. It's not really fair to Scorpius, is it, when you idolise him this way? What if you do meet him, Rose, ihm/i, what then? You only let yourself think this way, really, because you think you won't ever meet him because what if you do and he's different than you thought he would be, and he's perfect in his own way but you're expecting something different? Would he be good enough then? Would he be good enough for you?

Of course! I just want to be friends with him, that's all. Just friends. I want to know him. I want to be able to, for the first time in my life, look past his deep blue eyes and bright blond hair and see who he is really. Not just in my head. Not just in my imagination. I want to know who he is! Is that really a lot to ask?

No, it's not. But then why do you expect him to always introduce himself? Why can't you suck it up and hold out your hand?

Because he might not take it. He might look at me, and the thing I'm afraid might happen is that I will see utter surprise in his eyes. Surprise will turn to apprehension. Which will slowly sink into disgust. Which will-

"Rose!" Molly shakes me, used to my frequent internal dialogues. "C'mon, okay? I brought up some marshmallows from Honeydukes!"

"When were you in Honeydukes?" I asked, quizzical, but not reproving. My mum called Molly and I the "Fred and George" of this Hogwarts' generation. I knew Uncle George was a firecracker, and he always told me stories about him and his brother, Fred, and what they used to do in their "spare" time. I personally thought that I was much more shy than either of them had been. But that was the only reason I could give to my mum that we were essentially different, other than the fact that I still received perfect marks. I was lucky, and I knew it, to have inherited her brains.

Dad said I'd inherited more, since I didn't feel the need to study all of the time.

"I couldn't fall asleep last night, so I stocked up," Molly said, her eyes shining, her freckled face crinkled in a smile. I felt my face crack into a wide grin.

"Hey Rose, Molly," Albus's voice echoed to us through the portrait hole. "What do you have today? I went down to the kitchen for some treacle tarts," he said, holding out a nicely wrapped box. Molly squealed as she took the box, and I thanked Albus as we split and went up to drop our stuff in our dormitory.

"D'you know who Scorpius Malfoy is?" Molly asked me distractedly as she unlaced her shoes.

I nearly choked on the treacle tart I had been chewing. I was suddenly glad for the drawn curtains on my four-poster, as I hid behind them, trying to clear my throat and cool down my face.

"Uhm, I've seen him around yeah, he's in our year, so I've seen him and we have classes with him." I rolled my eyes at myself. It was clear that I was nervous. I decided to spend some extra time behind the curtains, and reached into my bag to attempt to dislodge the ceramic jug of potion. Speaking of Scorpius...

"Oh, yeah, I figured you would know who he was. I was just noticing him today, that's all."

"Why?" I asked, a little too loudly. It was more of a yell. iWHY!/i My face was hot, and I could feel my pulse in my cheeks.

"Well he was sitting kind of close to us in potions, and so I happened to look back at him this one time, and he was looking back at our table, and then he saw me looking so he turned around real quick, and I noticed that he had this ichunk of hair/i missing from the back of his head. I mean, he usually has some layers but this was a ichunk/i."

"Oh, really? Maybe he tried to cut his own hair." I looked around the curtains nervously, still attempting to extract the jug from my bag. Her back was to me. She was still trying to unload all of the Honeyduke's stuff from her own bag.

"Yeah, maybe..." she said, easily becoming distracted by sorting all of the chocolate into piles by kind.

We often had small conversations like this, but not about Scorpius. This, really, was only the second or third time we'd ever talked about him, and it had never before been by name. It had been hard work, keeping it secret from Molly for nearly five years, that I thought I fancied Scorpius. I wasn't about to ruin all that now, was I?

I wrote about him. Secretly. I never wrote his name, ever. I had perpetual ink stains on my fingers and the palm of my left hand from writing excessively in my free time each day. When I was home for the summer, I used a computer, which was much easier, but since Muggle artifacts didn't function inside of Hogwarts, I wrote in what I thought was the "old-fashioned" way but what was the usual for all wizard families besides my own-with quill and ink.

"D'you know what parchment is made out of?" I mused at Molly and Albus as we sat on our poufs by the fire, roasting pieces of marshmallows.

"Uhm, I think they used to make it out of goatskin," Albus said. Molly stuck her tongue out. "But now they make it like papyrus for the wizarding world, since we use it in bulk."

"So out of scratch paper and stuff?" I asked, tickling the top of Albus's head with the feather-tip of the quill. His hand automatically reached up to swat it. It's a game we play. More like, it's a game I play, since he can't seem to help swatting it.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Rose, why do you do that?" Molly asked suddenly, her head tilted up at me. (I was seated on a slightly-higher pouf, more like a chair.)

"Do what?"

"Tickle Albus's head. It's something you've always done."

"It's because when I do it he ialways/i swats it away. He can't help it. I like to torture him," I said and attempted an evil laugh.

"It's a good thing we're cousins and we have to like each other," Albus declared as he popped a marshmallow into his mouth. "Or I would have taken to avoiding you when you had a quill in your hand years ago."

"Rose ialways/i has a quill in her hand," Molly sighed, rolling her eyes. "It would be hard to avoid her at those times if that time was all the time." She frowned, trying to unravel what she had just said.

"Are you working on your Defense essay?" Albus asked me.

"No, I'm journaling," I said, holding out my journal in front of his face.

"What are you writing?" he asked, interested as always. "Can you share it today?"

I had made it clear to them that I couldn't always read to them what I had written, but on some days, when it wasn't embarrassing or something I preferred to keep to myself, I would read it to them. They were both enthralled by my writing, which I didn't understand. At least I didn't until I figured out that besides text books, they never read anything at all. My writing probably sounded extra fresh and exciting compared to instructions on how to decapitate a grindylow.

"Er-" I started, then changed tracks, rapidly improvising a plan. I had been writing about Scorpius, and what I thought the potion might do, but I could tell him that, obviously. "It's poetry, are you still interested?"

Albus crossed his eyes. It's his torn look. He thought that he couldn't convey that he's torn without doing this. I didn't understand any part of it. Why, for example he needed to show to us all that he's torn, and why he chose to cross his eyes to symbolise this. It's beyond me.

"Well, I hardly ever understand it. I might as well save you the trouble," he said, perking up as Molly brought out a large slab of chocolate from her bag and began unwrapping it.

"Oh go on, Rose," Molly said. She liked my poetry. "You hardly ever share, we might as well listen to it while we can, eh?"

Great, I thought. Now I have to write a poem.

"Just give me a second, I haven't even read it twice!" I said, clearly scrambling. Molly pretended like she doesn't notice, handing an over-large chunk of chocolate to Albus, who used his wand to siphon off ribbons. iNow what's the use of that spell?/i I thought. But we're hardly the ones to create practical spells, are we?

I scribbled rapidly for a moment, spewing my face and robes with ink. After about a quarter of an hour I announced that I was through with editing. Molly looked up at my face and, as usual, pointed her wand at it, muttering i"tergeo."/i

I wiped a hand over my newly ink-free forehead and then gestured out of the window. There was snow gently falling in the air, and already about three inches high on the ground far below. It was snowing early this year, but I didn't mind, as it gave me something to write about.

I handed my journal to Molly first, as it usually happened. She read it over once, looked up at me with her eyebrows raised, and then cleared her throat.

"you whistle

in the night

like diamonds

calling for

an eye

what else

in this world

reminds us

of such intense

fragility while

renders senses

of such false

strength?"

Albus was quiet for a while after, as usual. He tried very hard to understand where I was coming from when I wrote poetry. But this would be hard for him, naturally, seeing as I didn't even always know. He much preferred it when I read out loud my inner musings at the day's going-ons and the fiascos I usually managed to create in Charms, where he sat across the room from me.

He perked up suddenly, and I thought, my god, did he actually understand something? but he just looked up at me and said, "See, what I'm confused about is, how you wrote a poem about night in the day?"

Molly let out a small laugh as I punched his shoulder.

"C'mon Rose, let's get to the greenhouse early today," Albus yelled from the bottom of the spiral staircase up into the girls' tower. He had tried to come up it once during first year, completely innocent, to talk to me, and had learned his lesson quick enough.

"Alright," I yelled back, not convinced he could hear me. I flipped the lid back onto the pot of ink and put my quill aside, stashing my journal away. All the girls knew well enough to keep away from it, so I never needed to set it with a lock. I grabbed my hat and mittens and flew down the staircase, where Molly and Albus were waiting for me, chatting about the conditions of the weather and how this would effect the first Quidditch match that was coming up soon.

I wasn't that interested in Quidditch, though my dad counted that as a felony. I supposed that I liked to write about it. It was sometimes vaguely poetic. I was a pretty good flier, coming from a family full of flame-headed ones, but I never felt like trying out for the team. Molly and Albus, on the other hand, both made the team in their third year, as soon as spots started to open up. Albus, naturally, became seeker and Molly took up the spot of Chaser. They iloved/i to talk about it.

"So are you putting a wager in?" Albus asked me as we exited the portrait hole.

"Are you joking, Al?" Molly asked him, one eyebrow cocked. "Rosie doesn't bet, and she couldn't hardly care less about the outcome of the match."

"Well, I care that Gryffindor wins, that's all," I said a little defensively as we trooped down a moving staircase. We hopped the third step from the bottom automatically, and found ourselves, quite magically, on the ground floor.

"'Atta girl," Albus said, grinning and patting me on the back.

We walked leisurely across the marble tile, having time to spare. Albus and Molly chatted about Quidditch and the Hogsmeade trip coming up, while I stared off into space and grinned every once in a while. When we reached the Great Oak doors we pulled on our Khaki-coloured Herbology coats and our knitted hats and mittens (courtesy of Grandma Weasley, who had finally given up on jumpers), and crunched out into the softly-falling snow towards the greenhouses.

"Oi, Trevor!" Albus yelled, waving to a tall and lanky boy who was trekking through the slightly thicker snow near the bottom of the hill. Trevor looked up, and lifted his cap to us, gladly slowing down.

"So which greenhouse today, d'you think?" Trevor huffed out between labored steps. The wind was picking up. What sort of November weather is this?

"Wouldn't you know, Trevor?" Molly asked. "Your dad's the professor."

"Yeah," Albus agreed. "Don't you guys ever talk or anything?"

"Are you kidding?" Trevor guffawed. I rolled my eyes.

"Where's the rest of the class, Trevor?" Molly asked, frowning and looking around. The landscape was quickly becoming whiter, and we were leaving a trail of smattered footprints. They looked lonely, a little rut in the white desert of snow, compared to what we usually saw when we looked back; a sort of mangled moonscape.

"I dunno," Trevor said, shrugging. "Divination was a laugh today, as usual. I dunno why so many of us stuck with it. We sit and stare into the crystal balls, and then interpret each other our reflections. At least, on Old Trewlaney's days. Firenze's classes are much more interesting." He frowned, as if to say, but not iquite/i interesting enough.

"It's not too late to drop," Albus said as we came to a halt outside of greenhouse 4 (just to be safe). His eyes lit up. "We've been doing this little relaxation session in the common room during those free periods, instead of studying like we should-like the other people do." He gestured to the rest of the class who was tromping noisily down the hill to the greenhouses. Those iothers./i

Scorpius was one of those others (!).

"I would, but dad wants me to make up for what I can't take by taking the things I can scrape through, y'know? Since I dropped Muggle Studies, I needed another class, and Divination beats Ancient Runes or Arithmancy. No offense, Rosie."

"None taken."

I sighed. Things were getting so competitive in school these days. . . Mum said it was becoming more and more like the Muggle world, since we didn't have much besides what we'd study when we were out of Hogwarts to worry over.

Professor Longbottom emerged from greenhouse three with the ends of his hair singed and smoking. I looked over to my right where Trevor stood, plucking at his collar. He looked extraordinarily like his father, tall and lanky with protuberant greyish brown eyes and hair that stuck up almost as messy as Albus's. It was hard to believe that he had been pudgy and stocky when we first met, nearly twelve years ago, and that he had been even when we started Hogwarts.

"Professor," a girl's voice quipped. I looked back to see it came from Aednat. "You didn't get your hair like that from wrestling a iplant, did you?"/i

"No, Miss O'Shea," Professor Longbottom smiled, a bit wearily. "Third years are a handful, aren't they?"

We all giggled a little, nervous despite his reassurance. Albus elbowed me in the ribs, and whispered into my ear, "That's just what he says to lure us in, so we'll do all the dirty work, the wrestling with bubotubers and all that."

"Al, you can't wrestle ibubotubers/i," I hissed back as Professor Longbottom began his speech about greenhouse 5 (eek!). "You iknow/i the puss would get all over you!"

"Yes, undiluted bubotuber puss isn't flattering for the skin. You'll break out in this weird lizard-skin rash, all scaly, like a hide glove or something, only all over whatever skin the puss touched-" Molly whispered before being interrupted by the gradual shove of twenty bodies pushing her along into the greenhouse, which separated her from Albus and me.

Classy, people!

"Luckily dad uses a seating chart," Trevor said into my ear as we were herded along. I nodded my head, preferring to keep a tight clamp on my mouth, thinking that at least I'd be able to sit with Molly and Albus.

I should have easily seen what was coming. Of course, Professor Longbottom told us we'd earned free seating privileges until further notice, and the class, most of which hadn't been fortunate enough to have been seated close to their best friends, scrambled to sit at a table with their mates, meanwhile making a mess of the seating chart and separating Albus from me. I clenched my teeth, trying very hard not to roll my eyes, thinking it would maximise sighting ability as I searched for a table with Molly and Albus amidst the hullaballoo.

"Rose!" I heard Molly's voice from over my left shoulder and immediately turned and blindly took a step forward.

I smacked a tall, soft wall, which immediately sprouted arms and hands, which grabbed my upper arms to steady me on my feet and keep me from falling. I looked up, dazed, trying to get my eyes to focus after I bumped my head. It looked like a halo surrounding a tanned face. iDamn,/i I thought as I realised it was a person.

"Sorry," I mumbled, cupping my forehead in my palm, sidestepping out of the way. My hat slumped down to the bridge of my nose. I tried to walk away, and I began to rearrange my hat, but a strong hand grabbed my left arm and held me still.

"Are you alright, then?" a voice asked, one I didn't recognize immediately.

iDamn./i

"Oh, yes, fine, ilovely/i, thank you," I mumbled, my voice raising an octave. Oh Scorpius, why are you so chivalrous? Why couldn't you walk away like a normal boy?

"Your hat's over your eyes," he said, and I felt him tugging it up to sit on my hair. "And your hand." I grinned sheepishly, looking up at him. His blue eyes were twinkling, and his hair was spilling over his forehead.

"Thanks," I peeped. He smiled and we walked past each other. I folded my arms over my chest very tightly, maybe thinking I could stop my heart from aching if I pressed it hard enough. Would mum have called him a heart-throb? Hell, I would.

"Rose!" Molly called again, and I looked up to see her pink mitten waving at me over heads. I walked quickly to snatch up the last seat at the table. Albus and Molly sat on the side opposite me, and Trevor sat on my right. My cheeks were smarting. I hoped I didn't look unusually flushed. I also hoped no one had noticed my exchange with Scorpius in the midst of all the chaos. Especially Albus or Molly, since they wouldn't let me go without pestering the ihell/i out of me.

"Today," Professor Longbottom said dramatically-I looked at Trevor, who rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Today we will be working with Snargaluffs. I know for a fact that you've all worked with these before in greenhouse three, so I'm expecting a turn out of at least a hundred pods, shelled for the seeds. I've placed large bowls in the middle of your tables-" he held a large plastic bowl up in the air so we could clearly see what he was talking about, in case we had any doubts that the large clear bowl in the middle of each of our tables was really the one he meant. "And you are to try to fill them. If each table fills their bowl halfway with seeds, I'll know we're at a hundred pods and I'll let you hike up to the castle early..."

Professor Longbottom trailed off as a dull murmur overtook the class. Anything to return to the castle early, Professor!

"As it's a double period today, you've got plenty of time. Alright, go ahead." He swished his wand and small daggers appeared in the middle of the tables as well as a couple of smaller bowls, which we knew were for keeping the fresh pods until someone had time to pop them.

My job was always ipopping/i them.

The thing was, though I was awkwardly thin and looked actually very scrawny, in comparison to say, Molly, who wasn't oversized, and who was actually petite, but looked substantial, I had this weird strength when it came to keeping a hold of Snargaluff pods and squeezing them into submission so I could pop them and release the cositas verdes-little green things-inside.

"Ready, Molly?" Albus asked, rolling up his sleeves. Trevor pushed down his goggles, loosening his shoulders. The truth was, I thought, they really love doing this. Wrestling with plants...every boy's dream.

"Ready, Al." Molly was determined. She had pulled back her golden-brown locks with a piece of spare string that she probably found on the ground, and had removed her hat and pushed up the sleeves of her coat. It was Molly's job to reach into the weird stump until it produced a pod, and then she would snatch it before it could wrestle free of the boys' grip.

"This is like a more physically violent version of a muggle drama," I mused aloud. The other three looked at me blankly. I sighed. "Never mind, go on!"

"On the count of three, Trevor," Albus said intently, glaring at the Snargaluff, which seemed to growl in response. Nasty little prick, aren't you?

Albus counted down, as usual, and there was a sudden frenzy of crazed movement. We caught pods in record speed, about one every minute or so.

Albus and Trevor each grabbed two handfuls of branches, capturing every last one, and Molly bravely plunged her arm up to the elbow (which looked too far) into the gaping maw in the center of the stump. I waited anxiously, casting puffs of smoke into the air with my wand to "let off steam." After about thirty long seconds of probing and twisted faces, all the while her eyes squeezed closed behind her goggles, Molly triumphantly extracted her arm with a ipop!/i from the bowels and held up a bright green, wiggling pod.

She passed it off to me, ready to reach in again. I took it, easily engulfed in my task. I held it down to the table with both hands, on my knees in the stool to employ extra pressure. I grinned sheepishly, for a moment imagining how silly I must have looked, but the self-consciousness easily was lost among the roaring and yelling and shouting and sound of flailing limbs hitting stray objects. Finally the pod settled into a mild purr and stopped squirming, so I grabbed the dagger and slit it gently along the outside, whitish edge of the pod, and it split open as I shook it out over the bowl in the middle of the table.

I discarded the slimy shell into one of the smaller bowls and then looked up to Molly, who was handing me another pod just as I reached out to her. I grabbed it and proceeded in the same process, slitting it open and emptying it over the bowl. I was about to toss the shell when I heard a squeal and a large roar very close to my right ear.

I looked up to see a Snargaluff hurling through the air at my head. I quickly ducked and blocked my face with a strong thrust of my hands. The Snargaluff went flying. I didn't watch it, in a daze as Molly threw her arms around my neck, apologising profusely.

"Rosie!" I heard Albus yell, his voice strained. My neck snapped as I looked up, my eyes feeling as though they'd pop out of my head.

There was a racket so loud I thought it couldn't be real. Things throughout most of the greenhouse were going on as usual, in a kind of surreal state, but two tables down from ours, Albus was standing, waving his arms to get my attention, by the seat of Scorpius Malfoy, who, of course, had his arm stuck up to the shoulder in our runaway Snargaluff, which seemed to be trying to eat the limb.

I was paralysed. The blood rushed from my head.

Then we ran.

"Aw ihell/i," I heard Molly whisper as we took off sprinting. We reached his table in two or three long strides at the same time as at least five other kids, Aednat among them, swearing like a sailor as branches cut through her coat. I looked at Scorpius's face, which was wracked with both panic but also amusement.

I realised I was standing, feet away, staring at his face with my head tilted like a slobbering fool.

"iImpedimenta!/i" I shouted, shooting a fiery golden ball of a spell at the rabid Snargaluff, which instantly fell motionless as the spell engulfed it.

There was a sudden moment of complete silence and stillness. Everyone seemed to be looking at me, as I stood with my wand still in position, aimed at the motionless Snargaluff. I realised I was breathing loudly. I tried to stop.

Scorpius broke the silence by emitting a small sigh out of his nose as he extracted his arm from the stump. Heads snapped to his arm, which was coated all the way to the shoulder of his robe in an electric green slime. I grimaced in time with the others.

"Eugh," Trevor exclaimed softly, and I noticed for the first time he was standing next to me. I made a face, mostly for his benefit, since all the blood had rushed to my heart and my stomach and had made making faces extremely difficult and somewhat painful.

"I'm alright," Scorpius announced quietly, smiling. He has this sort of half-smile, almost a smirk but innocent and genuinely amused. It was that smile.

"Well...I think we've collected enough seeds, Professor," Albus yelled as Scorpius gave the Snargaluff a beat against the table and they began to ooze out, without the shells.

My forehead made its way to my left palm.


	2. Chapter 2

It turns out that Scorpius developed a sort of rash on his whole arm, and it needed immediate attention. I had felt so guilty for flinging the Snargaluff at him that I had immediately volunteered to help him up to the castle to the Hospital Wing. I convinced Albus we needed him, too, so I wouldn't be alone for so long with Scorpius. I had shuddered at the thought of being with him, on my own, through the trek up to the castle, as our boots crunched on snow and I scratched the back of my head awkwardly, while his skin flaked off.

No thank you.

Albus had done some sort of spur-of-the-moment spell on Scorpius's arm, to stop the itching and the smarting, but it had still turned this mottled green color, sort of like a whole bunch of green cobwebs had draped over it. We reached the castle running, as Scorpius began to get nervous about the growing fuzz. I had nearly slipped and fallen on a pile of half-thawed snow (a gift from Peeves, I expect) in the middle of the Entrance Hall, but had miraculously managed to scramble, with much flailing, after the two boys to the hospital wing. When we got there, I was panting, and they were not.

Madam Pomfrey greeted us, wide-eyed, as we all tried to tell separate versions of the story. It seemed like I had been the only one who had actually known, so I blurted out, "."

Madam Pomfrey looked at his arm, her face of calm extremely reassuring. I took a moment to huff until I had sighed loudly and sat down on a plastic chair on the outskirts of the infirmary. Albus had sat down next to me as Madam Pomfrey had lead Scorpius to a bed and made him lie down. I watched anxiously as she took out her wand and siphoned off the green fuzz and procured a large purple jug of cream and applied it to his arm. He seemed to not want to look over in our direction. I noticed, but Albus didn't, as he was chatting on about something to do with a new sort of plant with which he was planning on invading other universes. A Snargle's Snare, or something like that.

I noticed now that Scorpius was not a demigod in my head but an actual human being, that he actually looked very little like his father. Draco Malfoy, a.k.a. Dad's ex arch-nemesis, was pale and delicate, with stormy grey eyes and white blond hair. He looked noble. On the occasions I had seen him, he seemed arrogant and stand-offish.

Scorpius, on the other hand, had tanned, golden skin, even at the beginning of November. His eyes were deep, deep blue, and his hair was more of a golden-blond than a white-blond. He had a perpetually amused look on his face, and looked friendly. Approachable. One of us.

I wondered, as I did frequently, how he could be so content, having the sort of family as he had.

"Rose?" Albus asked. I jerked to life. I knew I had been daydreaming while he had been saying something deemed important.

"What?" I asked, my eyes flicking over to the bed where Scorpius was shut, now, behind the drawn curtains. I wondered how Madam Pomfrey had gotten him to lie there, docile.

"I was just asking you if you thought it was odd, as well, that Pomfrey gave him a sleeping draught after a minor run-in with a plant."

"If you didn't notice, it wasn't exactly what you'd call a minor run-in. Probably he has about ten different sorts of trauma going on right now. Head trauma. One. Arm trauma. Two. Exhaustion trauma. Three. Post-traumatic Stress disorder. Four. Identity crisis. Fi-"

"Come off it, Rose, he hasn't got any trauma. Alright," his brow furrowed as he reconsidered that statement. "Perhaps the first three you mentioned are valid diagnoses." He leaned over to me and whispered, "but the other ones are obviously exaggerations." I sighed. He raised his eyebrows.

"Okay," I nodded, watching the sleeping form of Scorpius. His blankets rose and fell at a steady, slow pace, matched with his sleeping breath. "But still, don't you think you would like to forget about all that for a few hours afterwards? I mean he can't have actually enjoyed any of that, even if he was nice about it to me." I felt my face contort into something that looked grumpy.

Albus shot me a furtive glance.

"What? You can't tell me, there's no way you could even consider saying, that he enjoyed that." I glared at him. He was fidgeting. "What?" I demanded. My heart was pounding. I could hear it in my ears. I knew I was overreacting, but I often did this where Scorpius was concerned. All of the guilty, nervous energy that I had pent up over the last five years seemed to creep into my body and my mind at these moments.

"It's just-" Albus began nervously. I felt my frown burrow even deeper. I wasn't annoyed anymore. I was just deeply, deeply confused and half-way dreading what Albus was about to say. It seemed too much like one of those muggle flicks, where the girl found out that the boy she had a secret thing for also had a secret thing for her, and the mutual best friend played messenger between them.

And the bare truth of the matter was, I didn't ever want anything to actually come of us. Of Scorpius and I. It would crush the idol I had built him up to be, and I didn't want anything to ruin that. In reality I knew we weren't right for each other. We came from a different breed. We hadn't' managed to become friends in the last six years despite the universe's attempts to bring us together-same year, same house, same NEWTs, mostly. Same best friend. So I figured, that meant he was just someone to dream about, to look at from far away and to think, ooohhhh or wow.

So in my mind Albus was not allowed to say what I thought he was going to say, but there really wasn't anything else I could imagine him wanting to say in this situation, so I screwed up my eyes and sat back in my seat waiting.

I felt Albus's finger try to pry open one of my eyes.

"Ouch!" I yelped, smacking his prying hand away. I rubbed my offended eye and it smarted. Tears started brimming in it.

"Oh, sorry," Albus said, biting his lip, patting my cheek. I rolled my eyes-my good one, at least.

"Albus, you know that my eyes are the redeeming feature of my face," I said, mock-sternly, trying to flutter my eyelashes at him. He pretended to dry heave.

Classy.

"What were you going to say that's so important that I must keep both eyes open to hear?" I asked testily, dabbing tears out of my eye.

Albus was quiet for a moment, trying to be dramatic. I could feel contrived drama radiating from him. I restrained myself from rolling my eyes. (Dad said this was a habit I picked up from Mum, and sometimes, when I remembered or cared, I tried to break it.)

"Well, I was just going to say that, maybe, you were set up."

My face twisted, the left side sort of scrunching up while my forehead practically shrank out of confusion.

"Set up?"

"I mean, maybe someone hurled the Snargaluff at you so that you would lob it off onto someone else…" Albus's eyes shifted back and forth between Scorpius's sleeping form and my face, which I could never control but at the moment was utterly and completely obeying its own will, morphing through a series of expressions that attempted to channel my confusion/growing anger/suspicion/disbelief to Albus's understanding.

"I mean, maybe, for instance, this one bloke wanted to give another a hand. They're best mates, in a fashion, only the other bloke-the one being helped by the nice one-wants to meet this bloke's other best mate-a girl-"

"You AREN'T about to tell me that you threw that devil plant at my head so I'd lob it onto Scorpius?" I demanded, more than asked, a little pool of anger rising in my chest.

"Well, he's so reserved-"

"Albus! He could've gotten seriously injured! Something maybe Madame Pomfrey couldn't cure! Did you think of that? Hm? Did you ever think that something you didn't think of could ever happen? Like the fact that maybe this girl doesn't want to meet this bloke?" I hissed this at him in a continual issue of sharp breath, and he leaned back away from me as if it were causing him physical stress. I leaned back dramatically, folding my arms tight like a little girl, my face sculpting into a pout. Albus came closer, I think trying to see if I were really upset. (Which I clearly was.)

"Of course you want to meet him," Albus whispered, sounding confused. My eyes snapped to him. "He's tall and nice and certainly charms all the women he meets. Plus you're always watching him," he said, grinning, elbowing me in the side.

"He's handsome," I snapped defensively.

"So am I," Albus said, trying to make a point that I deftly refused to acknowledge.

I shoved him away.

"You put some of his hair into your sleeping draught," Albus hissed, perhaps offended that I hadn't acknowledged his good looks.

My head whipped around, of its own accord of course, until my face was less than an inch from his. He looked nervous for a small second before he managed to conceal this with a glare, to match the one I was drilling into his head.

"You're not to mention this again," I growled, "And I'll forget about you setting Scorpius up to be ill."

Albus continued to glare for a moment, and then broke down and weighed his options, slumping back into his plastic seat. I felt myself relax. "Alright," he said dramatically, rolling ihis/i eyes for a change. "We're even."

"We're both blackmailing each other." I glared at him. "There was nothing to be even for, about, with…"

"Whatever it is," Albus finished my thought.

I reached up and gave him a terrific noogie.

i8 November 2022 (Tuesday)

Today some of the strangest things happened. Not that my life, everyday life, is not strange. So perhaps in a way this is just another day in the life of Rose Weasley.

But among all the other things, one sticks out in my mind very sharpish-like.

What's horrible is that Albus semi-told me, before I wouldn't let him finish, that he actually wants to meet me. It seems laughable, treacly, too-predictably cliché that this is true-the story of the quiet, weird, smart girl who has a secret fancy for the tall, tan, handsome, cool(er than cool), smooth Quidditch player, who then finds out through the mutual best friend that this tall, tan, handsome…boy also has a secret fancy for her and wants to meet her but has his best friend who is also one of the girl's best friends set up this crazy way to meet her because he's too shy and unsure of himself with her to introduce himself, himself.

No. This doesn't happen in real life, just in all the Muggle movies and books. Besides, if he wanted to be friends with me, if he wanted to meet me…I've said it a hundred times if I've said it once at all-he's had five years. We could have met the first day of first year. If I hadn't run away as soon as he came and sat next to me at the Gryffindor table-but then I didn't know that he was who he is, all I knew was what dad had told me of his father. It didn't help, his warning to beat him in all of my classes. Which I have. I mean, he's smart. He gets good marks, it's just that I have Hermione Granger's brains. Who is Hermione Weasley now, but her brains are in no, no way to do with dad.

It's late now. Earlier in double potions I made a sleeping draught, but added a chunk of his-yes-hair to it. It turned a deep, cerulean, tanzanite sort of blue. Almost purple because of how deep it is, but not dark like juniper berries (like it was supposed to be). It smelled sort of spicy-it's supposed to smell like vanilla and make you sleepy, but I didn't experience any drowsiness…I hope that the hair didn't counter-effect the other ingredients.

I'm going to sleep now, so I'll try it. I'm writing this down in part so that if anything happens, anything bad, posterity will know not to put hair into a sleeping draught. And they will know, more importantly, not to drink it if they do./i

I snapped my journal closed and set it in the drawer softly. Molly thought it was funny that I lined the drawer with satin, but she didn't understand that my journal was just as important to me as her vintage Cleansweep 7 was to her.

Everyone else was snoring softly-Molly, Aednat, Joan, and Jane. I think the new generation is mainly comprised of girls with old fashioned names. Especially the wizarding world, which, due to the lack of compatibility with Muggle technology, hardly ever moves forward.

I blew out the candle I'd been using, and it spluttered for a moment before extinguishing. I held out my wand, lighting it with the spell lumos, which I said in my head. I liked to do as many spells silently as I could. I felt powerful, and confident that it gave me the element of surprise on everyone besides Legillimens.

I crept to my four-poster, as silently as I could manage, and sat on the bed, cross-legged. I closed my eyes and took a big breath, feeling like I was on the edge of something big. I maintained the posture for a few minutes, with the slow, methodical ticking of the old, black cat clock on the wall tracking time.

I leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled out the large ceramic jug from underneath. I placed it in my lap, and I felt a thrill of excitement bite my stomach. I smiled, placing my fingers firmly around the large cork plugging the jug. I exhaled from my nostrils, knowing I was making this very dramatic. I looked up, realising that from the faint glow emitting from my wand, if one of the others woke up, they'd see. I placed the jug carefully on the bed and drew all the curtains.

I then decided that I should change into my dressing gown just in case I fell asleep right away. I pulled back one of the curtains and skipped softly to my wardrobe, taking my time in choosing which one to wear. I pulled a periwinkle blue, light-materialed, one off of a hanger and slipped it on. I realised what I was doing-stalling. With a large sigh I put my school robes into the drawer, carefully folded, and leapt back into my bed.

I crawled into the covers, propping up an extra pillow under the other one, so I could sit up a little bit in bed. I pulled the jug towards me, and conjured a cup. I spun it in my fingers for a moment, questioning my decision. I felt a frown in my forehead and whispered to myself, "ah, what the hell, it's just hair in a sleeping draught."

I poured the deep blue liquid into the crystal cup I'd conjured with a new-found determination. I set the jug down, shoving it hastily and sloppily under the bed, and settled back into the pillows, staring at the cup. It was a long moment before I tipped back my head and raised the cup to my lips.

It tasted faintly sweet, a little like butterbeer, spicy, like the autumn leaves, and something that reminded me of Quidditch, and perhaps some rose petals had steeped in it. I had a moment to ponder the distinct, completely new flavor, then I felt a wave of relief as my eyelids began to become warm and heavy.

"At least it's somewhat of a sleeping draught," I said drowsily as I pulled the covers up to my chin and closed my eyes.

I then immediately opened my eyes, knowing I was dreaming in the first thought I had. I was laying on my back in the potions classroom, which had been emptied of tables and cabinets. I could tell it was the potions classroom from the hardwood floors, but also from the stains splattered over the ceiling. There was an electric blue one I had caused in third year when Molly and I had attempted to make a love potion on free-choice day, stretching from the point above where our table would have been to the left-hand corner of the room.

"Well, this is lucid," I declared, my voice sounding strangely loud. It boomed slightly, maybe an echo, since I was in the empty room alone.

I tried to get up, but then decided that I wouldn't. I laid on the ground and closed my eyes. I felt a chill come over my body, and when I looked up, I realised that I was only a shell of glass. This fact didn't bother me, for some reason, though I could still manage to understand that had I been awake and this had happened, I would have flown into a wild panic. I wondered mildly where my internal organs were-where my brain was-and poked my glass stomach with my glass finger. It made a ping! noise, and I rested my head back down on the wooden floor, in a serene, meditative state of consciousness.

I felt another tingling sensation, and opened my eyes, looking left at my shoulder. I noticed I was filling with a green liquid, slowly, and then more rapidly. Soon I was full. I felt a small tap on my left heel, and sat up to look at what it was. A cork appeared there, and I figured since it was there, I should pull it. So I did. And I laid back down.

I felt the liquid drain out of my heel slowly, until I was empty and fleshy again. I wondered why that had happened, but soon I began to float up, towards the stained ceiling, still unalarmed. I noticed I was wearing Muggle clothing-a sundress, white, with an oversized blue sweater on over it, a sort of periwinkle blue-and then I passed through the roof of the classroom. I continued up through the castle in this way, though since I believe my own knowledge of the castle is limited, I also passed through blank spots. I tried to count floors, but I became distracted by my own peacefulness, and simply let myself float up to the roof. I stopped there, and landed with my feet on the shingles.

"Well…what now?" I asked as if I were really expecting an answer.

I saw a broomstick lying over on the next turret, which looked like the top of the astronomy tower. I couldn't tell which side of the castle I was standing on, but I didn't seem to mind as I walked-well, floated-over to the broomstick. I picked it up with a couple fingers, and saw that it was the latest model-Firebolt III-and I thought, "This is probably the only point in which I'll be immune to both the laws of physics and the laws of finance."

I took a moment to feel the smooth handle, noticing how it glinted in the full moon's light. I looked at the moon, which was large and gold as it descended over the forest and as the sky lightened. I guessed that if I were in the real world, it would have been almost five in the morning. There were thousands of pin-prick stars out.

I mounted the broom and zoomed off, following the trail that lead around the lake, and then, because it was so fun, I zoomed down the path to the greenhouses.

It wasn't the path to the greenhouses anymore. There was still the forest, but it looked inviting and safe, and I knew it couldn't be the Forbidden Forest. There were all kinds of trees here, not just evergreens-I thought it odd but didn't ponder it much, the interlacing of multicoloured leaves with the spiky needles of the evergreens, and the sappy finger-like appendages of yet other, magical trees.

I saw a flash of gold through the branches next to me. I was whizzing through the trees at an incredible speed, and almost missed the bright flash of light, but caught it from the corner of my eye. I heard a whizzing noise, and saw it again-a little ahead of me.

Another rider pulled out into the clearing when we reached it, and we raced together across it. He looked over at me, and I realised, this is Scorpius. He didn't look surprised to see me, only happy, like I was a friend. He smiled, and I, very tentatively, smiled back. His eyes came alighted with something that looked like a mischievous plan, and I put on a burst of speed that seemed to leave all of my insecurities, as well as Scorpius behind.

I imagined we were flying at somewhere close to a hundred miles an hour, and the clearing, though it always seemed like we were nearing the end, seemed to keep stretching across the forest, so that we didn't need to worry about getting tangled in branches or dodging tree trunks.

I saw Scorpius zip beneath me, and realised that he was weaving circles around my erratic patterns. I felt a wave of shock wash over me, understanding that we were flying together. I hadn't ever flown except for during holidays for no-points-kept games of Quidditch or on my own when I wanted to head out to the hills to write alone. It was strange that with such little effort we could create a rhythm and energy between us.

I saw him look over at me out of the corner of his eye. When he saw my face, which I felt was alive with wonder, he slowed and flew silently next to me, a slight smile on his face. His half-smile.

We eventually slowed down to the point of stopping, and touched down onto the grass. I was barefoot suddenly, and I stared at my pale, freckled feet, anxious again. I thought it was too bad that the confidence I found while walking around on the roof of the castle couldn't steal into my heart again. Walking hundreds of feet up in the air with no support? I can handle that. But put me in a strange place with a boy whom I fancy, or, think I fancy-and it's too much.

I saw a pair of tanned feet, much, much bigger than mine, appear at my side. I looked up slowly, and he was smiling down at me with his blue, blue eyes. I felt my own lighter blue eyes connect in a way that pulled my stomach to my throat, with his, and he seemed to feel it too. I felt myself blush-and could see a light pink tinge appear on the tips of his cheekbones.

The clearing gradually rid itself of the rocks and pine needles and filled with a misty, yellow sunlight that was streaming in somewhere from the outside left of my field of vision, as well as a light, lemongrass-coloured, long grass. It was "confused with flowers," as said the poet Robert Frost in his poem "Rose Pogonias." They were wildflowers, bursting with the raw sentiment and purity that nature has to offer-deep magentas, bright oranges, sunny yellows, sky blues, rose pinks…

We walked on, slowly, close to one another, broomsticks in our outside hands (it made sense, I thought, since I'm left handed, he's right handed). He looked at me, again from the corner of his eye, and I looked up at him, trying not to let my admiration leak from my pores, as it seemed to threaten to do.

"I've never dreamt of this field before," I thought I heard him say, but when I looked up, he wasn't looking my way, and it didn't look as though he'd just stopped talking. I brushed it off as my own thoughts, or some fluke of the dream. It appeared to be this, since he didn't talk, or make any noise, as we simply walked, side by side, into what seemed to be eternity.

This seems to be what out relationship amounts to, I thought. It's fitting that we smile, we look each others' way, but we don't speak. Is it that we're both shy? We're here alone, little to distract us.

This is a dream.

The realisation hit me with such intensity that I stopped in my tracks. I'm sure my head tilted of its own accord with a sort of awe at my opportunities. I noticed Scorpius had stopped and was standing by my side. I knew that he didn't have to answer like the real-life Scorpius, but since things had been so strange, I thought he might.

"Scorpius?" I asked timidly. My voice hardly made a sound.

He looked at me inquiringly. "Hm?" It was a comfortable inquiry, a sort-of question.

I stared at his face. He turned and looked at me.

He was the paragon of male beauty-I wondered how he hadn't been recruited by a modeling agency. I felt something strange, something unexpected-a pang of pity.

I suddenly thought, does he have real friends? I mean, besides Albus? He's so quiet, he's so beautiful…and he seems genuinely nice, though I haven't ever known him, really.

But Mum told me once why she was glad that she wasn't model-status beautiful. She said something like, she wouldn't be sure who was really her friend. As in, who wanted to be around her simply because she was beautiful, who wanted to date her because she was gorgeous, who wanted to be her friend and get to know her because of her eyes or her body or her smile-and then, who really admired and respected and was glad for her personality, her person, who she was. What if Scorpius often feels this fear? What if his other friends are only friends with him because he automatically raises their "status" by degrees because he is beautiful?

But I'm one of them. I've only ever fancied him because of his looks. That's all, I haven't taken the time to get to know him, I haven't admired his person-I've loved his face, his eyes.

I'm one of them.

I will not misuse this opportunity. I should not be here.

I had been watching his eyes as they searched mine. We had stood in silence, facing each other. I realised that it was enough to be in his presence, while I could be. Realising, also, my motivations for fancying him, I decided not to ask him anything, and just to walk with him until I woke from my enchanted sleep.

I felt a tear slide from the corner of my eye. Scorpius didn't seem to notice.

"Never mind," I said softly, and we walked on and on.

I opened my eyes to stare at the scarlet curtains hanging above me. I felt a tear on my cheek and wiped it off hastily, before turning over and staring blankly at the curtains hanging from the side of my bed. I felt a sudden burst of energy, though I knew it couldn't have been later than six thirty in the morning. I leapt up and ripped open the curtains, trying to be quiet as I skipped and pirouetted around my bed. I felt a laugh erupt from somewhere deep in my chest and burst through my lips-I clapped a hand over my mouth, but none of the girls woke.

I'm free, a distant voice in the back of my head sang. Free, free, free!

I pulled open the curtains over the window and looked out at the landscape covered with a white blanket of snow. It looked pure and new. I smiled at it, I beamed at it, thanking it for existing. I stared at it for a moment, and then moved quickly to make my bed and put on my robes. I tidied up my area, thinking that today everything deserved to be fresh and new and clean-

I opened up the drawer in my desk that had my journal in it. I pulled out the leather-bound tome, threw it to my bed, and pulled out my wand. I didn't exactly know what spell to use, so I just let out my pent up energy into a robust whistle, and used my wand to prod the silk until it fell off of the drawer. I took it into my hand, wadded it into a ball, and then vanished it. It felt nice.

I picked up the journal and stowed it back in the drawer, but this time…it was just a journal.

"Free!"

I leapt high and tried a spin in midair, landing less than gracefully on my mattress.

I couldn't stop smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

i9 November 2022 (Wednesday)

I can't believe I'm writing these words, but yes: I'm alive!

The potion was a gift from heaven. It didn't kill me, poison me, or harm me in any way. It gave me a dream-a solitary dream that has freed me from the mental and emotional, self-inflicted shackles I've been dragging around for the past five years. I couldn't celebrate becoming a prefect last year for the sadness I felt that he hadn't become one-but for some reason, when I woke up this morning, I was glad that I was a prefect, and I was overjoyed that Al was the other! I felt a sort of soaring in my stomach and in my heart, all things were bright and beautiful.

It took realisation to free me. To realise that the boy after whom I pined was only an idol-to really, really understand that whenever you take a step closer to the idol, it crumbles, is to really, really understand that you were only using that idol to fuel your dreams. You didn't appreciate its character (which is probably lacking, with such an exterior and ease of social living). You didn't love it for who it was. You weren't a friend to it. You worshipped it, bound yourself to it on false pretenses, thinking you were worshipping the idol when really you were worshipping a pair of astonishing eyes and a boy you've dreamed up from the start.

And now that I've realised that I was using him, that I never appreciated him the way that I dreamed that I could, that he most probably isn't the prince-on-the-white-horse character I've been assigning to his form (maybe this was even because I was silently, subconsciously, subliminally and occasionally blatantly instructed to steer clear of him)…now that all this is behind me, I feel so free. Like I can finally be myself.

That quiet, shy obsession-the wondering what he's really like, the admiring the back of his head in class, the stealing hair from his head to use in a potion-the drive is gone. I think of course that he's still the same person, of course he is (silly Rose), it's just that I am, in a way, new. I am the same person, essentially, as I was yesterday, only I have made a realisation that I couldn't have managed without the potion. The realisation I believe has freed me from the silliest of coops, the self-inflicted, willingly-entered fancies of a teenage mind.

I wasted so much time pining after shells. Empty beautiful shells, like, perhaps, actors. They've got lives completely separate from their fans-and they are people beyond their statuses as actors-but each admiring fan imagines himself, or herself, somehow into their lives and fails to understand that these false illusions and self-deceptions also fail to alter reality.

I get it. My dreams didn't change anything. They only sucked away my time and energy from what really mattered, though my life has been a wonderful sort of dream.

And now I'm free because I understand that I am me and he is him and we are different people than we are in each others' heads and that is a bunch of teenage mollycoddling-of our hearts. But the long-term consequences far outweigh the short term gain…

Is this what becoming mature feels like?

Somehow, I don't think so. Probably mature people don't think about whether or not they're becoming mature.

But I'm going to throw the rest of the potion out. It gave me the best thing anyone or anything could have given me. Freedom. The understanding that I belong only to myself and no one else. That I can be me, and those who will love me will understand who I am and cherish me for it. Those to whom I do not speak, who do not speak to me, are not interested, and that is how life is.

But I don't want to risk un-understanding any of this, and I don't want to dream of him again. Unless, of course, it happens naturally. I believe that it's done all that I needed it to do (and I didn't even know what I needed-funny) so I'll go banish it and throw the jug out the window.

Really, I'm going to throw the jug out of the window. /i

I leapt off of my bed after writing tirelessly for nearly a quarter of an hour and shoved the journal back into the bare, wooden drawer, placing my quill and ink pot on the desk on top of the navy blue stain that would permanently mark its spot.

I quickly tiptoed back to my bed and reached a hand underneath it, grasping the smooth, cold surface of the neck of the jug. It was slightly textured under the glaze, and I blindly rubbed my thumb along the small grooves and designs. I felt a little guilty for what I was about to do, knowing that someone had probably hand-crafted this perfectly nice, purple ceramic jug. But it signified for me something which I wished to smash with a certain fervor.

I dragged it out from under the bed and sat cross-legged on the floor, pulling it into my lap. I uncorked it, unleashing a small iblup!/i sound, and peered in to the blue liquid. It had almost a golden sheen, as if it felt it needed to be extra enticing to convince me not to banish it into the middle of nothingness-but nothing pretty, I felt, merely on a surface level will ever convince me to feel a certain way or do a certain thing ever again. I pulled out my wand a bit violently and prodded the surface of the liquid through the narrow opening and hissed, "ievanesco!/i"

The liquid vanished, without leaving a trace of moisture in the jug. I grabbed the cork and placed it back into the lip, and then hiked it up onto my hip as I stood up. It was heavy, begging me to spare its fine craftsmanship, for the sake of its usefulness-and I was tempted, but I was determined that this was something symbolic, something that I needed to do. I marched over to the window and threw open the panels, leaning out and breathing in the fresh, unusually cold air.

(As dad would have said, so much for all that Muggle hype about global warming! and then I would have said, it's global climate change, really. And he would have rolled his eyes.)

It was crisp, invigorating. I felt my cheeks smarting, and I knew they were pink and raw-looking, but I only felt the joy of breathing in the peaceful, beautiful winter air. I almost forgot what I had opened the window for, but the jug suddenly felt heavy in my arm. I grasped it by the neck with my left hand and held it out over the nothingness that was below-there was no one in sight, only stretches of white snow. I wondered briefly if it would shatter or blow apart or be damaged at all…but the snow couldn't be so deep, could it?

I leaned out over the windowsill, on my knees, trying to ensure that it landed on the ground below and not on another open window further down on the castle. With a quick intake of breath, I released the jug, and watched it with bated breath as it tumbled serenely to the blanket of white, where it crashed and broke into many tiny pieces.

Reality is that things break.

And reality also is that sometimes, breaking is the best thing that can happen.

When Molly woke up around eight o'clock and came down the staircase to the common room, she was already looking faintly confused-I was sure it was due to the organisation of my area in our room. I had straightened my portion of the circular dormitory since I figured it would make good use of the energy I'd received from the dream…or the sleep…or the breaking of the jug.

But she frowned deeper in puzzlement over my current state. I was the only one awake in the common room (there were some second years who seemed to have fallen asleep on the poufs by the fire), and I was sitting in one of the armchairs, finishing my Defense essay, which wasn't due till friday. It wasn't something she saw often, me doing my homework, since I usually left it all till my free periods or the nights when Al and I were supposed to be patrolling the castle (after a year of this, we knew that nothing was ever wrong, decided that we had been out of bed enough ourselves at the wrong times to want to catch innocent little sneaking children, and performed our other tasks flawlessly, so there was no need to sweep the corridors at night…right?). I smiled innocently.

"Wha…what are you working on?" Molly asked me, rubbing her eyes, her long hair tangled and slightly curling from a night without washing.

"Defense essay. I'm nearly done," I said, holding it up. "I've already explained the dangers of the entrail-expelling curse, I just need about three inches on the advantages." I frowned, tickling my chin with the tip of my feather quill.

"One advantage is that you can use it to extort your friends into telling you why they're acting so strangely," Molly yawned at me. I just grinned. She didn't even know the spell. Actually, neither did I. But I wrote Molly's suggestion down, even though I knew she was joking.

"But really," Albus's voice sounded from the bottom of the boys' staircase. "Please tell us."

Albus planted himself on the floor next to Molly, both of them sitting directly in front of me, at a prime distance for pinching if I refused to answer. I weighed my options.

But I felt good. I felt like telling them.

And so I did. I told them, for nearly half an hour, of my obsession with Scorpius ("How did you manage to keep this from me?" Molly demanded intermittently, stunned), and the potion, and the stealing of the hair, and the drinking it last night and the dream, and my realisation, and the way I felt now…

"D'you really think that you could have gotten over him so quickly?" Albus asked skeptically, one brow raised.

"Well I might still have a bit of a soft-spot where he's concerned. But at least I know now that it's not because I fancy him, but because I fancy his face."

"iI/i fancy his face," Molly grumbled, rolling her eyes. "Everyone ifancies/i his face."

"Right," I said, beaming, "it's a healthy fancy."

Albus and Molly sat watching me with looks of confusion and mingled horror on their faces. I supposed it was because I couldn't stop smiling.

My manic high ended after I had eaten breakfast. I think my head had cleared.

But I still felt as though a weight had been lifted from my chest, and my shoulders-even my lower back didn't hurt anymore. (Although that might have been because I'd finished my Defense essay and I didn't need to carry my book around anymore.)

I still felt refreshed, but in a normal way. I wasn't giddy. I wasn't going to smile at the world for existing, though I did seem to notice many things as I had when I had seen them the first time. How Trevor's chestnut eyes had a ring of yellow that lined his pupil, how the house tables had been re-stained since last year, how Professor Slughorn seemed to have actually slimmed down a bit…how Hagrid's beatle-black eyes could be seen shining even through all that hair all the way from the head table…little things I had savored before, things that had contributed to my character and my person, and things that I had missed in the haze and confusion and obsessive admiration that was Scorpius.

Al noticed my uplifted attitude, and it seemed to have rubbed off on him, too. Molly was still sleepy, eating groggily as Aednat was drying her newly-washed hair with her wand.

"Why can't you manage to dry your own hair, Molly?" Albus asked cheerily, reaching for more kippers.

Molly smacked his hand down, grabbing the last fish off the platter. Albus pouted.

"She wouldn't dry her hair at all if it weren't for me," Aednat said, shaking her head. Aednat's wiry, curly blonde hair needed to be dried every day, she said, so that it didn't "attempt to replicate one of those ridiculous eighties hairdos." Molly's was much straighter, and I knew it didn't need to be dried, but it was Aednat's way of showing affection. She was usually to busy firing off rapid insults under her breath or snapping back with a fiery retort to show much care, so Molly (and I, when it came to that) put up with her strange behaviours.

Albus stared at Aednat's hair for a moment, then stared at Molly's, and then seemed to keep his comment to himself.

"Where are we off to today?" I asked Trevor, who shared nearly all of his NEWTs with Molly, Albus and I.

"Charms," he answered, "Professor Flitwick is going to give us loads of work…I heard so from Arti Patil, who's in Ravenclaw."

"What's with the sudden deluge of work?" I asked, confused. "I mean, I know Mum and Dad always used to talk about how they had so much work, but this seems rather early with NEWTs so far away."

"Dad says he doesn't remember the work much," Al mumbled through sausage.

"Did he do any of it?" Molly asked, cocking an eyebrow. "You know, being the famous Harry Potter and all, off in search of Horcruxes, saving the world…he might have been a bit busy."

I let out a small laugh. Mum and Dad had gone crazy while Uncle Harry often left the premises of the castle to chase after clues on the hunt for the twisted and torn pieces of Voldemort's soul.

"Yeah, you know I've got about a hundred of his card from Chocolate Frogs," Trevor piped up. "As well as your mum and dad's, Rosie."

"Yeah," I said, rolling my eyes. "Dad claims it was his finest hour, finding out he was going to have a Chocolate Frog card."

"Well wouldn't it be yours?" Molly asked me, her soft brown eyes glinting with admiration for her own humor. "Who wouldn't want to be famous in that way? I mean, come on, encased in a Honeyduke's sweet? What more can you want in life?"

"Well, if you're Dad, I guess not much else…" I frowned. "He's a pretty good Auror, though. Not that there are any serious threats these days."

"Not since Dad's been made the head of department," Al said proudly. "He always pounces on those mischievous miscreants before they have any time to do any real harm."

"And Grandpa, in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, he keeps an eye on them too," I reminded, nodding subconsciously as I propelled cereal into my mouth.

"And your imum/i," Molly proclaimed dramatically. "All the work she's done for the non-human magical creatures as one of the top dogs in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement…it's great, it's revolutionary!"

"I know, I know, but to me she's still just…Mum." I shrugged into my cereal.

"Mail's here!" Trevor announced, pointing upwards at the flurry of brown, grey, white, gold…wings of the owls coming to deliver our brown paper packages or our cream-coloured envelopes. Faunus, one of the family owls, a great big barn owl, came soaring over to our table and landed by Albus and I, fanning his wings. He had a letter addressed "Rosie" in his beak. I reached over and grabbed it from his beak, and he looked at me with his ochre eyes sagely. Mum named him after the Roman god of Prophecy, because she thought it would be funny if the Roman god of Prophecy swooped down and delivered us letters. Funny in an ironic, you-have-to-have-read-a-book funny; I liked that sort of humor.

It was Mum's handwriting, but I knew that Dad would have included something, too. Although I could hardly ever decipher his writing. I stuffed the letter in my book bag as the first bell rang.

"We should get going," Al mumbled as he yawned and stuffed his own small package into his bag. I knew Aunt Ginny sent him along the things that he forgot.

Reality is, people forget things.

And reality is that people's mums pack and send them the things that they forget.

I am rediscovering reality.

Reality is that I go to Charms first thing on Wednesday mornings.

Reality is that I am pretty good at Charms, and that I sit next to Al and Molly, and Trevor sits at the table in front of us with Aednat and Scorpius.

"Today, class," Professor Flitwick began, running a hand through his dark hair. "I was going to assign you work in pairs to attempt a go at the Disillusionment Charm. But I have been thinking about this, and I've decided to let you choose a spell or Charm out of this book." He held up a hefty golden tome, and the title was printed in large, maroon letters that said "Obscure Spells and Charms."

"Oh no," Molly groaned, as the rest of the class seemed suddenly to buzz with excitement. "This is going to be a jolly right mess! What's he thinking?"

"I have a lot of grading to do, so today you will not be graded on your performance." The class began again to murmur. "However," Flitwick said, raising his eyebrows and smiling, "I'm sure that, given the selection of Charms, some of which you've heard of and have surely mastered by now, you'll still give it a good effort."

He then set the big book down on the front table, where Trevor was sitting. The class instantly scrambled out of their seats, creating a flow like a tide of students, pushing and stepping over each other, to get the book.

"What an idea," Molly grumbled, her face pressed up against my cheek. My face split into a malicious grin.

"Rosie!" Al called over the heads of various people (we shared this class with the Slytherins), and I saw that he was pointing to a narrow opening between some bodies. I took Molly's hand and thrust her into the gap before it had time to close, since she would fit. She wiggled her way through, pulling my hand with unnecessary brutality. I supposed it was revenge, but what really should have been happening is her being happy that we were getting to the book.

"I like this one," Albus said, laying his finger on a Charm that said "Waddiwassi."

"What is it?" I asked, unable to see the finely printed description underneath the gold lettering.

"It's a variant of Wingardium Leviosa," he grinned. "It propels small objects through the air."

"Oh, no." iGreat/i, I thought. iThis will be an interesting day./i

We tramped out of Charms two hours later, Molly with a flock of birds circling her head ("avis"), myself with an armful of flowers ("orchideous"), and Albus with several small bruises all over his body. We headed to the hospital wing to get a curing potion for Al, laughing and recounting the several close escapes and near encounters with danger.

"I'm very surprised Professor Flitwick allowed such malarky," Molly remarked.

"Didn't you notice he wasn't in the room?" I asked, surprised. "He left to his office."

"Mum and Dad's Professor Flitwick wouldn't have let that happen," Albus said, wincing as he poked his bruises.

"You mean, Headmaster Flitwick?"

"Yes, he taught them Charms, remember?"

"Of course I remember," I returned, rolling my eyes. iUgh/i, I thought. iI've really got to break that habit./i

Our Professor Flitwick, as I supposed Albus would have said, was the headmaster's nephew.

"Well, I'm just glad that I've learned to do this," Molly said, gesturing at her flock of yellow canaries. "Even if it was a little bit like some sort of magical battlefield in the classroom."

We turned down a corridor and walked to the end, talking and joking loudly, making fun of some of the kids who had gotten beaten up by their own Charms.

"Hey!" I shouted, noticing a small, purple bruise forming on the back of my left hand. "Albus, when you hit me with that ink pot it left a mark!"

He cackled and ran into the infirmary. I dropped my armful of flowers pretending to chase him. iOh well/i, I thought, isomeone will be very happy when they stumble across a bunch of magical flowers./i

We skidded to a sudden halt.

"Wha-" Madame Pomfrey came running towards Al, a look of shock plastered on her face at the sight of so many bruises. "Don't tell me." She held up her hands, looking as though she had decided she didn't want to know. She led Al to a bed and made him lay down, forcing a healing draught down his throat. He looked unhappy, as if he wished that his bruises weren't disappearing so he could show all his friends his battle wounds.

"You too?" Madame Pomfrey asked quizzically, noticing the back of my hand.

"Oh, it's nothing, though, it's just one-"

But she grabbed my good hand and dragged me to a bed, ignoring all my protests, most of which were admittedly feeble ("but I've got to go to lunch," "Molly will have no one to talk to," "I don't want to drink any potions," "I feel fine, it's just one bruise, it's not that bad…"), and threw me down onto it before I could wriggle free of her iron grasp. She turned and closed the curtains, ordering me to put on a pair of pyjamas that she had just thrown over the curtains. I heard Al snickering in his own bunk next to mine. I rolled my eyes but no one saw. I guessed that I forgave her-she had a right to be suspicious, not having any idea what caused all the bruises.

When I had changed and folded up my robes on the small table that sat next to the bed Madame Pomfrey returned to open the curtains and force a gobletful of some sweet-tasting orange liquid down my throat. I felt a little sleepy after this, but my body felt a sort of tingled rejuvenation. I looked at the back of my left hand in time to see the bruise slowly fading away. If I had been feeling sharper, I think this would have slightly amazed me.

I looked over at Albus. He was staring sleepily at the ceiling, I think tracing patterns in the small perforations that ran through it. His bruises were already gone, and he was glowing with seeming-health.

"Molly's gone," I said, frowning, but knowing that Molly would hardly miss a meal just because we were being detained by an elderly nurse who'd gone a bit gaga.

"She said she'd bring us back lunch," Albus piped up from his bunk. "I think there's steak-and-kidney pie today."

"Well hooray," I said grumpily.

"You didn't really think she'd stay, did you? She hardly ever skips meals except for when we're in real trouble."

That seemed to be true. Al and I got into a lot of trouble sometimes, and occasionally she would skip mealtimes to come rescue us before the teachers could find out. Once, in fourth year, Albus and I had been making one of the runs to Honeydukes when one of the secret passageways sealed itself off. She rescued us by blowing a hole through the barrier at dinner time, which neither of us had thought to do.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. At least she's bringing us some things."

After a very pregnant pause, Al cleared his throat. "So…tell me about you and Scorpius."

I accidentally gulped in too much air. "There was never anything besides in my head," I told him, turning to look at his face. "I just had a crush on him, not like anything…else."

"How can you be so sure that you're not thinking about him like that anymore?" he asked, his head tilted to the side like a dog. I felt like walloping it.

"You didn't feel the way that that potion made me feel. It was the best thing in the world." I folded my arms over my chest for emphasis.

"What did it feel like?"

"It felt like…freedom. I mean, I may even still fancy him. But in a very different way…" I shrugged. "It's hard to explain."

"But that's what you do," he whined, "you explain things that are hard to explain."

I thought a moment. "Well you know how when you like a girl, she's all you think about for maybe a third or even a half of your day? And how at first, you seethe with jealousy and longing? Well I think not many people get over this first stage, but I think if there's a second one, it's one that involves moving on to just wanting to be friends. In an obsessive sort of way. This is the worst stage, at least it was for me-because I write, you know-" I paused to check if he was following me. It seemed like he was.

"And the potion, when I was dreaming, I suddenly felt light and I was flying and it was comfortable. You know that nervous energy that happens when you think of that person and when you're around them? As far as I can tell, that's what makes you obsessive-you don't understand why you feel that way."

I stopped again, looking to Albus's face to see if he looked confused. His brow was smooth, and his jet-black hair was falling into his green eyes. He was listening intently, so I continued.

"Well, what happened is that potion helped me to understand why I felt the way that I did. And now, since part of the wonder is gone, I can focus, and I'm not obsessed like I used to feel. I'm free."

"Okay," Albus said. He seemed to think about this for a while, and we each laid in silence. After a few long moments, he looked over at me. "You probably won't have to explain this to Molly…?"

I grinned. "Probably not."

The door to the infirmary opened and I saw two trays of food make their way into the room before their bearer. iAlbus was right,/i I thought. iSteak-and-kidney pies/i.

Um, but he wasn't right about this part.

Of course, it was Fate playing with my head. Yes, you'll get over him, Fate seemed to say. But I will place him into every aspect and dusty corner of your life just to taunt you.

Scorpius followed the trays into the room and walked quietly over to our beds. He handed Albus his first, and I saw Albus try to signal him something without talking and without me seeing. He sent a glance my way and I snapped my head down to pretend that I hadn't been looking.

Then Scorpius turned to me and handed me my tray, grinning. I noticed his teeth were perfectly aligned and straight. My face automatically responded in a smile, as if it was saying, "oooh, look, I can't resist your face, it's true!" I took the tray and thanked him, all without hearing my voice or noticing my actions very well.

"Molly said she had an Arithmancy paper to finish up," Scorpius told us, sitting in a plastic chair between our beds.

Al and I snapped our necks in looking to each other. "There's no Aritmancy paper," I mouthed to Albus, who mouthed back, "Molly doesn't take Arithmancy."

I bit my lip, looking back up at Scorpius, who hadn't seemed to have noticed the exchange between Al and I and who had been chatting pleasantly about the lunchtime action, which had included Trevor bewitching the jug of pumpkin juice into thinking it was a piece of steak-and-kidney pie, Hugo (my younger brother by two years) flirting with some seventh years, and Lily (Al's younger sister, the same age as Hugo) trying to save his skins by piling up food on his plate so high on his plate that he became distracted and let up.

Scorpius paused and took a drink from the cup of water Madame Pomfrey had left for him on Al's bedside table. She usually wasn't keen on visitors, but I supposed that since he had brought us plates of food filled with more things than we could ever eat, she looked kindly upon his presence.

Soon we were done eating and I banished the trays to the kitchen. My eyelids were feeling heavy as Scorpius and Albus discussed Quidditch tactics, and soon I heard Albus's snores quickly increasing in tempo and volume. I found myself smirking as my eyes began to close.

"Do you play Quidditch?" I heard Scorpius's voice address me, I assumed, since he couldn't possibly be talking to Albus for a number of reasons, not the least of which included the fact that his snoring was ear-splitting and quite a good indicator that he wasn't exactly up for conversation.

"Nah," I slurred, the sound issuing out of the side of my mouth.

I felt something small and warm on the tip of my nose, and for a wild moment I thought that it was Scorpius's finger, but when I opened my eyes I saw that it was his wand resting there as he whispered, "rennervate."

"Thanks," I said, and my voice was much too loud now that I had unexpected and full control over it.

Now that I could see him clearly, his deep blue eyes looking at mine, his face crinkled in a smile, his blond, slightly-wavy-in-a-nice-way-and-mostly-straight hair spilling onto his forehead, I felt my pulse quicken by fractions, gradually increasing as I took in each new feature. The sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheekbones, which were high and defined, his small-ish, well-sculpted, almost-upturned nose, his thin but defined lips stretched around his white teeth in an almost goofy-looking smile…I pressed my eyes closed and pinched the bridge of my nose at the sight of the large freckle placed under his own right eye. It made my stomach give an unexpected leap. I breathed through my nose, hoping it didn't sound too loud and that he didn't notice much.

"Anyways, I was only wondering because next year one of our Chasers is going to be graduated, and Al mentioned a few days ago that you're a good flier." He was looking at me hopefully, and I briefly questioned Albus's "confession" in this very room the day before; I couldn't believe it. Not this cool, collected, handsome, and suddenly very boyish boy who was sitting between us. Maybe Al had made it up to procure a confession about the hair I cut off, or an explanation.

"Well, I don't know the game well," I offered hesitantly after a few moments of rapid thought, not wanting to disappoint him, but also not wanting to commit to anything. I wasn't really sporty and I was less-than-coordinated.

"I'm sure Al could catch you up over the summer," he said, shrugging, a strain in his voice. I wondered if, but through a sort of mental cheesecloth, so that I wasn't sure if it were me wondering or me knowing, he was trying not to sound too hopeful, or too excited.

I hesitated, met his eyes, and gave in. "Oh yes, I'm sure he won't mind. He'll probably be ecstatic, actually. He's been trying to get me to join in on the family matches for ages." I cringed internally at acquiescing like that, but there had always been something about his face that had played with my heartstrings, and now, I supposed, it's just doing that in different ways. Or, not-so-different ways.

"You probably don't understand how Al talks about you, guessing from your tone. He's always talking about what a-" he paused, looking up and in each direction, and then lowered his head so that his face was close to mine, continuing in a slightly-raspy whisper, "bloody good flier you are."

I felt my face split into a smile, and I glanced over at Albus's sleeping form surreptitiously. iOh he is, is he?/i

"But no pressure," Scorpius said suddenly, and when I looked at his face I saw that it was suddenly ridden with worry and questions.

I couldn't help it. I let out a small laugh, and Scorpius's lips settled into a relaxed smile. "Don't worry," I told him, looking down at the bed sheets and my horrible striped pyjamas, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "I can handle any sort of pressure from that old boy."

I heard him let out a soft chuckle and I realised with a sudden jolt of electricity in my stomach that it was the first time I had ever heard him laugh.

And then I thought, you haven't made much progress, really.

Because reality is, Scorpius still makes me a little nervous.


	4. Chapter 4

(a/n: you will probably notice that in this chapter I changed the names of the other sixth-year girls *they were Joan and Jane before*. I mentioned them briefly in Chapter 2, but I decided when I was writing this chapter to choose names that go better with their surnames. I'll go back and change Chapter 2 after more chapters have been validated. . )

Disclaimer: I regularly consulted iQuidditch Through the Ages/i for this chapter's match sequence. Also, the spell "Aresto Momentum" isn't mentioned specifically in any of the books, though it appears in one of the films.

hr /

Scorpius and I slipped into an easy friendship after spending the afternoon talking in the infirmary. I still hadn't confessed to being the one who had cut a chunk out of his hair, but it didn't seem to be on his mind. I had noticed three more distinct freckles: one on the left side of his mouth, one on the bridge of his nose, and one on his neck. I wouldn't tell anyone that I looked for his freckles, but I liked them because for me, me who was always assigning special meanings to things, it represented his differences from his father, who seemed to be a slightly pathetic but also somewhat despicable character.

Weeks passed very quickly and in a sort of haze. Now that Scorpius and I were friends, he took to spending time with me in between classes and with Albus and Molly, too, when we ate meals and had weekends off. He had come patrolling with me the night after Hagrid had gotten on my case ("O' course, I wou'n't tell ye this if I di'n't have to, but as yer Head o' House, I've got to let ye know that ye should be patrolling the seventh floor twice a week") for skiving off duties, because it wasn't Albus's night to go and he had to finish his Defense essay.

I discovered that although he didn't have the same free period that I had, he had one right after lunch on Wednesdays, and that's why he'd been able to skip that one afternoon when we'd first spoken in the hospital wing. It had been a few weeks since then, and I had living been in a sort of disbelieving haze. It was as though we had been born to grow up and be friends.

It was a Friday night, the 25th, the night before the big match. Scorpius and Molly and Albus and I were sitting on four armchairs near the fire in the common room, butterbeers in hand. Molly and I had made a Hogsmeade run earlier in the day, directly after classes, and had picked up a few things from our friends at the Three Broomsticks. As the Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes got more popular and gained more revenue, and as madam Rosmerta got older, it became a goal of Uncle George's to buy out the Three Broomsticks. In my third year, he did, and although Molly and I had been making runs out of the castle before then, they had become infinitely more fun since.

Surprisingly, the sixth and seventh year boys had managed the decorations. There were scarlet and gold streamers everywhere, along with drawings of lions pouncing on serpents, or roaring. There were self-portraits of all the the team players, which was my favorite part of the display-Albus was a great artist, and his was predictably quirky and still somehow realistic, but Molly, who had never had much luck with depiction, had drawn herself in what she labeled "cubist" after interrogation, but what was her only and every style. Scorpius had taken a more humorous approach to his portrait and had drawn himself as a pudgy cartoon polo player nearly falling off of his horse to hit the ball with his too-short mallet.

I was momentarily surprised that he knew anything about Muggle sports, seeing as his background seemed to be ill-favored towards them. iBut then again/i, I said to myself as I looked over the ink-strokes in the horse's pudgy belly, ihe has developed a certain fondness for Molly/i. If he felt the same about Muggle-borns as his dad did for Mum, then they wouldn't get along well at all.

And they did, I thought, as I watched Molly slop some of her warm drink down Scorpius's robes as she attempted to toast but slid on a Fever Fudge that someone had left on the carpet. He just laughed, pretended to punch her arm, and used a simple heating spell to evaporate the liquid. Steam began to rise from his robes in small streams, and suddenly stopped. There was a sizable gap between the time this happened to the time that I saw more steam begin to rise again in the familiar, small billows.

"Why didn't it all dry up at the same time?" I asked, pointing at Scorpius's robes.

Scorpius laughed nervously, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

"What?" I demanded, sitting up straighter and looking him in the eye. He quickly distracted me by holding the glance too long, and I looked down at my lap, setting down my butterbeer on the floor by my chair.

"Alcohol's boiling point is lower than water's," Albus piped informatively, leaning towards me in his chair.

I felt numb shock seeping through my veins.

"Oh no," Molly gasped, her light brown eyes flying open wide, her black eyelashes nearly forming "o's" around them.

I vaguely regained feeling in my feet, at which point I struggled to kick over the bottle of butterbeer. In my spasms, I sent it flying across the room where it landed at the feet of Addae Jordan, who picked it up, toasted me with his eyebrows raised and looking extremely pleased, and emptied it in one swig.

I felt my face twisting with revulsion and the horror of realisation came crashing down on me.

"Butterbeer has alcohol?" I demanded, pulling on the front of Albus's robes, pulling him towards me with nervous strength. "You mean I've been…I've been…" I swallowed dry air, pressing my eyes closed, desperately trying to propel the word out. "iDrinking?/i I'm a prefect-" My eyes widened even more, my mouth popping into an "o." "iAl/ibus! iYou're/i a prefect!"

Molly rushed over to me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I could feel my eyes wide open and my mouth moving wordlessly in shock. "It's okay, Rose!" she said, shaking my body, trying to snap me out of my trance. I could barely see Al and Scorpius kneeling by the arms of my chair.

"There isn't enough alcohol in butterbeer to be traceable in the human bloodstream."

My head instantly cleared. My eyes snapped to Scorpius, who was clearly hiding a wide grin and possibly a laugh behind a seemingly-stony face. I knew I was grinning sheepishly at the three of them. I got up suddenly, spotting Addae, and marched over to him.

"In that case," I muttered to myself, grabbing my empty bottle out of his hand, "I'll take this."

Addae's eyes were practically boring into my back as I walked back to my armchair. I pointed my wand at the bottle, casting a silent refilling charm. It filled to the lip with the yummy golden liquid, and I took a small, polite swig before I sat down. The three were motionless for a moment, watching me with a strange, half-amused, half-exasperated look on each of their faces. Then Albus got up, patting my shoulder, and I knew he was rolling his eyes.

"What do you think about Scorpius's sudden interest in our group?" I asked Molly later that night after we'd changed into our flannel pyjamas and were in the bathroom, washing our faces.

"I dink it's genuibe," Molly said, rubbing water into her face. She continued for a moment, shook her head wildly, and then toweled her face daintily. "Don't you?"

I had started to brush my teeth, so I nodded, but there was clearly a frown indenting my forehead. I stared at it in the mirror.

"You don't seem so sure," Molly mused, wringing out her hair into her sink.

"Well, it's just…" I started, and to my, well, not quite surprise but to my slight horror, I felt my eyes begin to burn. That sort of feeling you get when you're going to cry, but you don't want to, and don't really understand why you feel this way.

"What is it, Rose?" Molly asked, placing a hand on my left shoulder. I continued to brush my teeth, perhaps a little violently. She looked at my face a long while, as I brushed, trying to ignore the tears brimming up in my eyes.

She suddenly clapped her palm to her forehead. "Oh my gosh," she whispered, looking horrified. "Oh, Rosie, I'm so sorry! This can't have been easy for you-"

Tears began to fall. I continued to brush in a methodical fashion.

"I mean, you had only just told us that you'd fancied him all this time, and you finally rid yourself of him, and all of a sudden he comes up and now you're best mates, and I mean, yes he's lovely and nice and caring and all…we just weren't thinking about what was best for you, Rose…were we?" She wrapped her thin arms around my torso. My arm kept moving, up down, up down, up down….

"You need some space. You need to breathe. You need to become sane again." Her ochre eyes met my light, sky-blue ones in the mirror, which were rimmed with red and out of which tears were flowing prodigiously. My red eyelashes were clumped together, little arrows pointing at my eyebrows, which were screwed together at the knot in the space that should have been between them. She must have seen something of what I wanted to say in them, because her face, which had melted into a sympathetic and understanding grimace, suddenly looked unsure. She looked at my reflection out of one eye, wondering.

"There's more than that…I can tell by your eyes. It's something poetic, I suppose," she sighed, sitting down on the wicker hamper. She waited while I finished brushing, spit, and rinsed my mouth, knowing that I would talk. I always did, in the end.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a long moment.

"It's just a tired, tired line," I mumbled finally, dragging my hamper over and setting it in front of her, sitting down. "Girl has crush on boy, boy has crush on girl, they never talk, suddenly the girl realises she's a blubbering fool, and then, she finds out about the boy, they get together…" I looked at her, and I could see my eyes full of worry reflected in her own. "It seems…too cliché, I thought so when Al first hinted that Scorpius might want to meet me, after all. It seems too easy for someone to have orchestrated. It could be a plan. It could be fake. It might be the stage for some sort of ulterior motive, and I'm just playing the assigned part, delivering all the right lines…"

"Rosie…" Molly began, placing her hands, firm and steady, on my shoulders. I stared at my fingers, twisting them restlessly, anxiously. "Sometimes, life happens in a cliché way. You can't stop that from happening, always. Just because it's been written or imagined before doesn't mean that it won't happen in real life…You can't let your preconceived notions of what's real and raw, or what's cliché, get in the way of your feelings. You're a reserved person. I know for a fact that when you give yourself away, you do it completely and loyally and lovingly. And then you question your decision and begin to pull yourself back in. I never knew how you felt about Scorpius, and I know that if you had to write about it, you questioned your motives and his and everything a thousand times."

She looked me in the eyes, and I could see a surprising wisdom there.

"Don't analyse ieverything/i. It can make you judgmental. It can stop you from being vulnerable. And that's what you need to be for a relationship. No matter how it happens." She shrugged. "I don't really think that anyone's relationships begin in the way that they predict them happening." She rubbed her temples with her fingertips, groping wildly for words. "What I'm trying to say is, don't let the fact that something is 'cliché' get in the way of your feelings, or make you second-guess yourself."

I felt the tears slowly dry off my face, leaving crusty, salty trails. I hastily wiped my eyes, giving Molly a tight hug.

"There's something else," I whispered in her ear, and she pulled back to look me in the face.

I rolled my eyes before I proffered, in a barely-audible whisper, "Well, it's just that e.e. cummings said:

pleasure and pain are merely surfaces

(one itself showing,itself hiding one)."

Molly had sucked in her breath when I mentioned cummings, and hadn't let it out yet. She was looking at me, trying not to let her eyes go blank, I was sure. She finally gave up, pursing her lips, looking down and shaking her head slightly. "Uh, yeah….You're going to have to make me understand why that makes you nervous."

"It means that pleasure hides pain, and the other way around, too." I bit my lip. "Am I only attracted to Scorpius now because I'm feeling pain at the discovery of my true motives for being…attracted to him? I mean, the before-kind-of-attracted to him?" My eyes started to tear up again, and I could hear the pleading desperation in my voice. It had been something that had been bothering me for the past two weeks, since I had thought about that flutter of activity in my heart and midsection at his close proximity and close examination of his face in the infirmary.

Molly stared at me with a hard, glazed look about her, and I thought she was probably trying to work up an answer that didn't involve smacking me upside the head for my silly worries.

But she surprised me with a valuable answer. "You know what I've found over my years of hardly paying attention to most of life? It's that, your intentions only really matter a severe minority of the time. It's what you actually do that counts. Maybe that's hard for you to grasp, as someone so internal, who processes mostly mentally, from the inside. I guess that's just one way I'm not cursed." She grinned, and I pretended to scowl, but broke into a watery laugh.

"So act like his friend, and you'll become his friend," Molly whispered, catching me in a hug. "It's how I stomached Al for the first two years of Hogwarts."

I pushed her away, laughing.

"WAKE UP, ROSE!" I heard a loud, obnoxious voice bellowing into the curtains on my four-poster. I groaned, turning over in bed.

"Mollers, please," I said, my voice muffled, as I'd buried my head under my pillow.

"Don't you want to go down to the pitch to get some good seats?" Molly stuck her head into my curtains, already dressed in the scarlet and gold house uniform, strapping greaves to her forearms.

"Mph."

"Get up!" She yelled, smacking my read end. The resulting noise resounded through the circular dorm.

"Ow!" I squealed, turning over and walloping her with my pillow. Feathers streamed through the air. She grabbed my defenseless arm and dragged me out of bed onto the hard, cold floor, where I remained stubbornly curled, my bare feet tingling with chills.

"Get up, get up, get up!" Molly said, methodically timing her demands to match the tempo of each beat she wailed on my form with my pillow.

I suddenly lifted my head from the floor, though I remained curled into the fetal position. "Hey," I said, reaching up to guard myself from another blow. "Where are the other girls?" Aednat O'Shea, Jamila Thomas, and Amelie Finnagan weren't in bed. It was early.

"They fell asleep in the common room," Molly said, a slight frown taking over her face. She sucked in her bottom lip. It's the look someone has when they don't want to tell you something but know they should, and they're just wondering what's the best way. "Let's just say that there's a reason that you were chosen as prefect, and they weren't." She resumed beating me.

"Alright, alright, I'm getting up," I grumbled, almost shouted, shoving her off me. She'd been straddling my waist, the better to beat me into submission. She bounced off, happy suddenly, humming to herself.

I pulled myself up onto my elbow, resting my cheek in the cup of my palm. I watched Molly running around and grabbing last-minute things, pulling on her boots, hopping on one foot and banging her head on her wardrobe door.

"What, you think you're more coordinated or something?" she shot at me, seeing my smug face.

"I'm just warm and comfortable, and your head is probably throbbing."

"Get your robes on, we've got to go."

"Okay, okay…" I walked to my wardrobe and pulled on my robes over my pyjamas, fastening my heavy winter coat with the golden clasp. I stowed my wand into my pocket, pulled on mittens, boots, arranged the hood on top of my curls and walked out of the dormitory with Molly, who was practically oozing excitement. She could hardly keep from sprinting down to the pitch, I could tell.

We passed through the common room, stepping over bodies.

"Oh, gosh," I said, pressing my mittened hand over my mouth. Aednat, Jamila and Amelie were snoring loudly on the floor, face-down. I looked around tentatively. "I don't see anyone else passed out drunk on the floor," I said, my voice betraying my disgust.

"Aw, come on, they're not passed out," Molly said, prodding Jamila in the back with her boot as we passed. Jamila let out a loud grunt. "See?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's get out of here," I grumbled under my breath, dragging Molly across the room and through the portrait hole.

We walked down to the pitch chatting amicably, occasionally mocking this person's outfit, that person's performance in the school choir, tripping over small rocks buried in the snow, and quoting poetry (this was me). When we reached the pitch Molly headed off to the broomshed and the changing rooms while I hiked up the stands, to get a seat at the top. When I got there, huffing and cold, Trevor was sitting by himself, wrapped head to toe in red and gold.

"So you were obviously taking the subtle approach when you picked your clothes today," I said as I sat down next to him. He turned to look at me. His head was wrapped in a red and gold scarf, and only his eyes and nose poked out of it. But the skin around his eyes crinkled and I could tell he was grinning. He nodded.

"Ah wan-id t'be pay-dree-od'k," he mumbled through layers of fabric. I reached up and pulled the scarf down under his chin. "Thanks."

"No problem, Trevo-o-ooo-or," I said, yawning largely and stretching out my arms.

The stands were filling up quickly, blocked into two major dominating colour-combinations-red and gold, and green and silver. It seemed that the Gryffindor colours overpowered those of Slytherin-even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff chose us over Slytherin. Although there hadn't been any true showing of dark wizards since Uncle Harry and Mum and Dad defeated Voldemort, and the Slytherins themselves had no true evil characteristics, they had still been sorted into the house due to their "ambition," which often, when it was the dominating character-trait, seemed to bring along with it foibles such as arrogance and pretentiousness.

And of course, no matter the status of the world-at-large's evil forces, Gryffindor and Slytherin would always be engaged in a house rivalry.

"Who d'you suppose will win?" Trevor asked me, as he looked around at the stands, which were full by now.

"Gryffindor, of course!" I said loyally. "I am fully confident of Molly and Al's skills."

"And Scorpius," Trevor said. My eyes snapped to his face, but he wasn't watching me; he was looking out at the stands opposite us. "He's also one of the major assets of our team."

"We're like the dream-team." I couldn't contain my goofy smile.

"And, if you join next year, we really will be." He elbowed me in the ribs. I grinned sheepishly.

"It's just a maybe at this point, you know." I looked at him, curious. "How'd you know I was thinking about it?"

"Scorpius mentioned it last night," Trevor said, shrugging his shoulders. "He was trying to sound nonchalant, but we could all see he was really excited."

He fell silent, and I couldn't think of anything to say.

My brain was whizzing with questions.

But I felt immediately guilty. Of course Scorpius wouldn't befriend me only so I'd join Quidditch…silly Rose.

I shook my head vehemently, sending a iwhhh-b-bbbb-hhhwhhhh/i sound out of my lips. I saw, out of the corner of my eye, Trevor glancing at me from the corner of his own. Our eyes met and he smiled widely, but didn't ask.

I really have better friends than I ever thought.

Several things then happened all at once. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, a great roar erupted in the stands, and the two teams walked out of their respective changing rooms. It was an impressive display-a frenetically waving and cheering crowd, the golden stream of light issuing from the heavens and touching down on the bright green field, the two teams, clumps of the house colours, slowly advancing towards each other, headed for the center of the field.

Addae Jordan's voice boomed out over the field and the stands.

"Good morning, all you dedicated Quidditch fans! Thanks for coming out so early on a weekend morning to support your house teams! We kick off the year with a match fueled by the emotions of the notorious rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin!

"Introducing, iSlytherin!/i" The clump of green-and-silver in the east corner of the stands hoorayed and danced and cheered wildly as Addae read off the names and the respective players raised their hands in acknowledgement. "Parkinson! Zabini! McLaggen! Crabbe! Goyle! Flint! Aaaaaand Avery!"

I could hear the grin in Addae's voice as he roared, "And introducing your holders-of-the-Quidditch-cup-for-TWENTY-SEVEN-YEARS, iGRYFFINDOR!/i"

I assumed that I went nearly deaf during the ensuing chaos, but I cheered along with everyone else, screaming loudly for Molly and Albus.

"Sloper! Malfoy! Pratt! Thomas! Kirke! Wood! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, iPotter!/i"

Molly, Al, and Scorpius looked up in my direction and waved before concentrating intently as Madam Hooch released the balls. Al stepped forward to shake the hand of Carrick Flint (I took great pleasure in knowing that his name meant "rock"), the Slytherin captain. As they stepped back, Madam Hooch raised the thin silver whistle to her lips.

This was the moment, truly, of calm before the storm. The stands were noiseless. The silence was almost as overwhelming as had been the ruckus only moments before.

The whistle screeched, and a flurry of activity commenced. I watched Al and Avery shoot up and over the stands in a matter of seconds, the Seeker's prime vantage point from which to spot the tiny, winged Golden Snitch. I had thought, second year, that I would try out for the position of Seeker-but Al and I decided, he'd be good at Quidditch, I'd be good at school and getting into trouble. Of course I wouldn't have ever wanted to take the only spot he really wanted.

I heard the vague shouting of Addae Jordan into the loudspeaker, and to my delight and slight surprise, Molly had possession of the Quaffle. She began to weave in and out of the other players in a strange, and seemingly-random pattern. I only figured out what she was doing as she zoomed dangerously close to my section of the stands, the Quaffle tucked neatly into the crook of her arm, and the other Gryffindor Chasers joined her. They zig-zagged through the air rapidly and, as the Slytherin Chasers tried desperately to catch them up, they were shaken off again and again.

"Woollongong Shimmy," I heard Trevor exclaim, laughing victoriously. "They've really perfected that since last season!"

"iYEAH!/i" I shouted, punching the air, trying to make up for my lack of knowledge for the sport's terminology by adding in extra enthusiasm. Trevor merely shook his head, smiling a little. I shrugged, turning to Molly's direction and continued to cheer her on, shouting and dancing.

She had reached the Slytherin's end of the pitch, and looked to be within shooting range. She skidded to a sudden stop in midair, passing the Quaffle to Scorpius, who had been tailing her closely throughout her crazed Woolloop Shimmy. He circled a Slytherin beater with blinding speed, and I barely saw him raise his muscular arm up high before shooting it towards the middle goal hoop.

It looked like Flint was about to block the shot with the tail of his broom, but Scorpius had obviously put measurable spin on the release; the Quaffle suddenly sped off in the direction of the left-most hoop, and made it through before Flint even had a chance to change his course. Addae was shouting into the loudspeaker, but no one, I'm sure, could hear his words. The cheering was uproarious, and Gryffindor celebrated the goal rambunctiously. Trevor and I hugged, jumping up and down, screaming nonsense words.

The first match of the year was always hectic. Always crazed. Always emotionally overboard.

But what would you do if you were thoroughly beating your rivals? Outperforming them in nearly every area, including names?

We continued to outperform them, Molly and Scorpius scoring each about seven more goals. "We're up nearly 150 points!" Trevor screamed in my ear. I nodded, cupping the aching appendage in my mittened hand.

I watched the Chasers chasing the Quaffle and each other for a while, gradually losing interest. I tried to pay attention, and sometimes I just watched Scorpius, his golden hair glinting in the sun. He's so good-looking, I found myself thinking. I blinked hard, but I was smiling. At one point, seeming bored, he looked over in my direction, and I could have sworn he winked before speeding off in the direction of a Slytherin Chaser, proceeding to pretend to punch him in the nose ("Transylvanian Tackle!" Trevor whooped), and to steal the Quaffle, zooming off to put it through a goal hoop.

It looked like their actions were on a loop. Everyone else seemed to be interested. I just couldn't follow. I watched Albus, I watched Molly, I watched Scorpius.

"I'm bored," I screamed at Trevor, who looked a little shocked, but who then stared at me a long second, reassessing the person who was talking to him. After a moment of this he just smiled and nodded. I pulled out my wand from my pocket, prodding Trevor's cheek with it.

"You wanna see something cool?" I shouted at him as he jumped back, nervous at being prodded in such a way with a wand.

He clearly didn't, and he sighed dramatically before nodding. I felt my face crack into a smile.

I held out my wand in his direction, taking a couple of steps back from him. The people I shoved out of my way in doing so didn't seem to mind. They might not have even noticed.

Trevor was watching me nervously, but he seemed to know, albeit deep down, that I wouldn't do any serious damage.

"iAguamenti!/i" I murmured, and a stream of clear water shot out of the end of my wand. Trevor leapt back, but the water didn't touch him-it froze in midair, an arc of ice. It glinted in the sunlight, an ironic sight.

"POTTER'S SEEN THE SNITCH!" a voice bellowed from somewhere above us in the stands. I snapped my head up in time to see Al diving towards the ground, almost at a 90-degree angle to it. At the same time, I saw a flash of gold headed in the right direction-I looked up again, hoping it wasn't Avery, and saw that it was Scorpius-only, he wasn't diving for the Quaffle, or the Snitch.

He was ifalling/i.

I hardly stopped to think. My arm reached into my pocket and whipped out my wand, focused it on Scorpius's rapidly-falling form, and I screeched, "iARESTO MOMENTUM!/i" A white bolt of light shot out of my wand and headed towards Scorpius at an incredible speed, and seemed to engulf his form in a sort of cocoon as he fell. I was breathing hard, my puffs forming small clouds in the air in front of my face.

His body slowed considerably, but he was still high in the air. It gave Madam Hooch time to conjure a large blanket and run to hold it beneath him. Both the Gryffindor and (most of) the Slytherin teams zoomed to the ground to take hold of one of the edges. Scorpius fell into the blanket, but still landed on the ground. There was a loud /ithud!/i that resounded throughout the still and quiet pitch and the stands, but not a moment later, Scorpius bounced back up and held his hand up in an embarrassed wave. Al ran over to him, gave him a pat on the back, and held up his own hand. Applause began to echo through the stands and across the pitch.

And then we saw it. All at once. The little Golden Snitch was clasped in Al's gloved hand, fluttering its wings, which reflected light from the sun, which was now streaming down onto the pitch more brightly than ever. The applause became a loud roar, which became a wide-spread celebration. Addae Jordan seemed to regain his voice, and could be heard screaming into the loudspeaker, "AND GRYFFINDOR'S SEEKER ALBUS POTTER MAKES A SPECTACULAR CATCH OF THE GOLDEN SNITCH, WINNING THE MATCH AND EARNING AN EXTRA 150 POINTS FOR HIS TEAM, FOLLOWED BY AN EQUALLY-SPECTACULAR RECOVERY BY CHASER SCORPIUS MALFOY!"

I looked over to the commentator's box anxiously, in time to see Addae motioning Scorpius to come over. "See folks, he's quite alright! Chipper, I might venture to say. Aren't you, Scorp?"

"Erm-yes, quite fine, thank you," Scorpius's cool and collected voice boomed out over the stands, and I could hear the smile in it. The crowd cheered louder.

I looked down at Molly and Albus, who were celebrating with the rest of the team. They'd lifted Al up onto their shoulders, and were moving in a slow pack down towards the changing rooms. I was about to say goodbye, see you later to Trevor when he prodded my shoulder.

I looked up at him and saw that he was grinning, pointing down at the pitch. I followed his gesture with my gaze and suddenly spotted the unmistakable Madam Pomfrey, headed towards the tall-and-lanky boy who, even from this height, was clearly Scorpius.

I rolled my eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

i26 November 2022 (Saturday)

Although this day will probably live forever in my mind (and to be quite frank I'm slightly surprised that I'm even writing about it…just kidding), I think I need to sort out some thoughts.

The strangest, strangest feeling. At one moment, I was exhilarated enough to scream-Al had seen the snitch and besides, our victory had been clear from the first five goals that Molly had scored. And even in the same moment, just later in it, I thought Scorpius was going to be seriously injured, and felt this overwhelming fear that I think was then infiltrated, in the space/time of a millisecond, by a calm and a knowing. I didn't consciously know that I was supposed to use that spell, but I think that unconscious forces took over and guided my actions. Of course, I knew that such a spell existed, but I didn't have time to think of it in that second plus, I hadn't ever known the words before, I don't think. It's not often that you have to save a falling body from the hard ground a hundred feet below.

Not that I think I saved him-I just helped him out, I suppose. He was still badly bruised and had a terrible headache. I, of course, along with Madam Pomfrey escorted him here and he kept trying to tell me he was okay, but he kept wincing every time he took a step or forgot to try to look like he wasn't hurt, and even though I felt bad, of course, for forcing him to lie down in the bed against his will, I thought he could use some rest and a little bit of a healing draught, at least to get rid of his bruises and his headache…and, as I was worried, any internal and invisible ailments that might have resulted from his fall.

I'm sitting by him in one of those annoying plastic chairs in the hospital wing. He's been turning in bed a lot and he keeps shouting things, it's alarming. I've almost fallen out of this flimsy thing a couple times. That's why there are ink blotches everywhere.

He looks so different than his father. Even different than he did in first year. He's still got, obviously, some of his father's features, but I think he inherited most of his looks from his mother. Not that I've seen her since first year before boarding onto the Hogwarts Express, but I remember that she was darker-though it's not hard to be darker than Mr. Malfoy-by a little, with golden skin instead of porcelain.

It's not all, though. His eyes are such a deep, deep blue. They're not dark, I don't think, just really saturated and almost purple. I can't see them right now since he's sleeping, but I would be able to imagine them no matter what.

I won't exalt his looks any longer, I've already done that in almost every other journal entry I've written. Now that we're friends, too, it feels kind of weird.

Mum predicted once, when I was little, that writing our thoughts down would deteriorate to a point at which we would forget how to look inward. When she told me, I didn't understand what she meant-now, I think I do. Even though I write every day, more than once on most occasions, I hardly take the time to analyse my own actions and thoughts and motives…It feels sort of selfish in a twisted way not to look inwards. The world deserves better of me, I know it does. I'd always thought that writing was simply a thing that we did because it was a way to acknowledge living, to calm ourselves, and to understand the world-but writing on its own doesn't do much to help us understand the world. I wrote about Scorpius without knowing anything about him, and it didn't help me understand his character anymore than I would have had I not written about him at all. What I mean to say is, writing doesn't help us understand anything of which we have no clue in the first place.

If we write more and do less, the world will become no clearer to us than when we began to live in it.

Meeting Scorpius has been good for me, if only to clarify his real person. I would, at the moment, hazard a guess that his character is quite nearly what I had imagined, but the fact that I imagined this has absolutely no effect on who he has turned out to be.

The only person who can be effected by my writing and delusions and imagining is-well, myself. Only I've been forgetting. Forgetting that the topics about which I write, and the way in which I do, say so much about my own development. Writing is a gift that I've been given. It is a strength inherent in my nature. I believe firmly in the fact that we were all given gifts to use them to better the world and better ourselves so that we might in turn better the world-I guess this complicated and intricate pattern that looks sort of like a circle when you step back from it a little ways.

Anyways, Scorpius just yelled out, "THERE'S THE SNITCH!" It's my newly-developed belief that he is reliving the match in his sleeping state. I'll wait and see if he tries to fall out of bed, imitating his spectacular performance earlier today. If he does, I'll be forced to allow him to fall. I'm convinced that there's not enough air space between him and the floor for me to pull out my wand and save him again. :)

I'm sure I'll write again soon./i

I snapped closed my journal, perhaps a little louder than was necessary, half trying to wake up Scorpius so I could talk to him. It was a little boring, waiting here while he snored/tossed and turned/shouted in his sleep. Yes, the time had allowed me a journal entry, but I could do that anytime, like when I was waiting to fall asleep. I couldn't talk to Scorpius any old time, could I?

I had realised within the past three hours, which had been the time between when I had whipped out my wand to slow his descent during the match and now, that I liked Scorpius more than I had been willing to admit. I had decided to fully absorb Molly's advice from the night before, and to simply experience some things. My relationship with Scorpius was going to be something that I experienced rather than analysed, or we'd both go insane.

I reached up and wiped a strand of his blond hair off of his forehead. It was striking, I thought, the lack of a difference between his face when he was sleeping and when he was awake. He just always looked genial, friendly, innocent. I traced a line between all of his freckles, playing connect-the-dots. Madam Pomfrey poked her head into the room from her office, saw us together, and then retreated. I didn't notice.

Suddenly Scorpius's hand reached up and caught mine where it was on the side of his face. He held it there, his lips forming a small smile, his eyes still closed. My heart was beating rapidly.

"We seem to be meeting here quite often," he whispered softly, smiling.

"How long have you been awake?" I whispered back, and his eyelids fluttered, but didn't open.

"Since you found the freckle under my eye," he said in his deep, raspy voice, and we both laughed.

"Do you remember much of what happened?" I asked, clearly nervous that he had suffered some brain damage.

"Yes," he said, patting the back of my hand and releasing it. I put it in my lap.

"So you aren't concussed?"

"No, Rose, I'm fine. I'm not even sore anymore." He opened his eyes and propped himself up on his pillows.

"You don't have any bruises?"

"No."

"You don't ache anywhere?"

"No."

"Your head doesn't hurt?"

"No."

"Your thinking isn't fuzzy?"

"No."

"Your memory isn't gone?"

"No."

"Nothing's broken?"

"No."

"Okay, then," I said, unable to think of anything else to ask. I tucked a stray curl behind my ear.

Scorpius grinned. "Thanks, Mum, but I'm absolutely fine."

I smiled sheepishly. "I know that you didn't see how far you fell, but I was scared to death that you were going to-"

"-break all my bones-"

"-get a concussion-"

"-forget who I was-"

"-die-"

"-Rose, that's ridiculous-"

"-you fell at least a hundred feet-"

"-I was completely under control-"

"-Oh, no you weren't! If I hadn't thought up that spell-"

"-you thought it up?"

"Well I've probably heard it before, but it's not like I had a lot of time to think, did I?"

"I don't think you made it up, it worked too well."

"Excuse me, my made-up spells work at a consistent rate of 82.7 percent."

"I'd be willing to bet that 82.7 out of 100 spells that you make up are actually ones you've heard of before-"

"Oh, no, you wouldn't. My spells are notorious around school."

"And Al's, and Molly's, yeah, yeah."

"You're glad for my spells."

"I'd bloody well say I am."

"Could you not use that tone around me?"

"Why? I'm fervently grateful for your made-up spells."

"Oh, I see. When they save your life."

"Do you really think 'save my life' is the correct term? Was I really going to die?"

"Probably."

Scorpius let out a loud laugh. I smiled a little, but I was still convinced that he might well have.

"Well, in that case, ithank you/i for saving my life." His eyes were soft, a joke still lingering in them.

"You're quite welcome." I allowed myself a wide smile, finally feeling relieved and semi-convinced that nothing was wrong.

He seemed to read my mind. "D'you think Madam Pomfrey would let me go even a minute without her direct attention if something were seriously wrong?" His eyebrows were raised.

"You have a point," I said, and patted down his bed-head. We sat in silence for a long moment, until I asked, "What were you dreaming about?"

"The match," he answered immediately. Nearly too quickly. He wasn't looking at me, but down at his bedsheets, where he was fiddling with an eyelet.

"Sometimes you shouted," I pointed out, partly to signal to him that he couldn't lie, since he had been narrating his inner-consciousness adventures.

"I did?" he said nervously, looking up at me quickly. His eyes are kinda dark blue, I mused to myself. I snapped myself out of it quickly.

"Yeah. It scared me every time. The last one was, 'THERE'S THE SNITCH!'" I yelled it just as he had, complete with flailing arm motions, and his face relaxed as he chortled.

"Sometimes I forget that I'm Chaser and not the Seeker. Also, Al needs a hand sometimes. He stubbornly refuses glasses, but you know…"

"Yeah, I know, I've been telling him for years. But he's too concerned that he'll look like Uncle Harry if he got them."

"And he doesn't already…?"

We laughed a little, and Madam Pomfrey must've heard all the fun going on, because she came shuffling out of her office and over to Scorpius's bed, peppering him with even more questions than I had thought of. Scorpius answered good-naturedly to every one, smiling and batting his thick, blond eyelashes at the elderly witch until she threw her hands up and stormed off.

"I guess that means I can't leave yet," Scorpius mumbled, looking up at me. "She'd have my neck if I left without permission."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay," I said, "I'll stay for a while and then come have Al fill in for me." Scorpius smirked.

"So I suppose that I owe you one," he said after a long while of frowning at the ceiling as I scribbled in my journal. I set my quill down, nonplussed.

"What for?"

"For saving my life," he said, as if he were discussing the weather.

"No, of course not," I said, frowning. "You don't owe anyone anything for protecting you, it's what friends do."

"But I want to make it up to you. Not just for that-" he paused, looking down and then back up rapidly. My stomach twirled. "But for being my friend. I didn't expect you to accept me as you did."

I stared at him before I realised what I was doing, and I hastily looked down and snapped my journal shut for something to do. I mumbled some jumbled words ("it was nothing," "of course I would be your friend,") and I could feel my cheeks burning. I set my journal down on the nightstand beside his bed.

He reached over and grabbed my hand, and then clasped it in both of his own. I looked up, surprised. I was equally surprised to see the expression on his face-a mischievous grin. My head snapped back, and I was immediately suspicious, regarding him out of one eye.

He continued to make me nervous for a while, clearly enjoying the amount of power he wielded over me, and then burst out laughing.

I was so confused.

"What?" I demanded after a couple minutes of his now-silent laughter. He had tears streaming down his face.

"It's just-haha-it's just that I know-haha!-and you don't know I know-" He pushed the words out between peals of laughter.

I rolled my eyes, and decided to wait it out. Real iclassy/i, Scorpius.

"I know you cut my hair off."

I felt my eyes fly open at the same moment that my heart flew to my chest. It began to beat rapidly and with a certain fervor. iOh Rose/i, I thought, iyou must look terribly attractive at the moment./i

I tried, far, far too late, not to look as if I were a deer caught in the headlights. It didn't matter; Scorpius's face was bright red with laughter, and one hand was covering his mouth, as if he were trying to contain some level of volume behind it.

"Er-yeah," I said lamely, trying to extract my hand from Scorpius's own large one. He gripped it tighter.

"That's okay, I kind of like the way it looks," he said, still cackling, and he reached one hand up to fluff his longer layers. I felt myself smile. "It adds a certain flair of originality to the bleakness that's the back of my head."

"The back of your head isn't bleak," I snapped, trying again to extract my hand from his vice-like grip. He grabbed both of my hands with both of his, and pulled my face close to his own. He wasn't laughing anymore, but there were still salty tracks that ran down from the outside corners of his eyes, and his eyelashes were stuck together. The redness gradually receded from his face, replaced instead by a pink tinge at the edge of his cheekbones. It seemed vaguely familiar, and produced a similar reaction in my own, though I knew that my own blushes were beet-red and not as attractive.

His eyes were looking at each of my own in turn, playing a sort of hopping game between them. I was utterly and completely mesmerized and trapped by his presence.

"Tell me what you did with it," he breathed, his eyes not leaving mine, and his hands maintaining their firm grip on my own. Our faces were mere inches apart; I shrugged off chills.

"I put it in the sleeping draught," I confessed, breaking eye contact to look down at my hands trapped in his.

He let out a laugh, clearly not having expected that answer.

"To what end?" he questioned in a soft, raspy voice. I gulped, trying to control the wild palpitations of my heart.

"I had a dream," I breathed, not daring to look up at his face-at his eyes-at his lips-

To my surprise, his hands released my own where they had been resting on his chest, and he put them on my shoulders. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I kept them there.

"A dream?" he asked softly, a slight crease forming between his brows. "What night was that?"

I gulped again, trying to ignore his large, warm hands placed on my shoulders; trying to ignore his certain, spicy, woodsy scent; trying to ignore his barely-upturned nose that was so close to my own; trying to ignore the beating of his heart beneath my hands…it was difficult work, trying to think backwards while so close to his warmth and scent and overwhelming beauty.

"I…erm…uh…think it was the eighth. Of-this month," I barely managed to get all the words to tumble out of my mouth. Cottonmouth, I believe that's what they call it.

Scorpius's hands clenched my shoulders for a split second, and then he let go. He looked me in the eye for a long moment, and burst out into another fit of laughter. He grabbed my hands in his own, and then took them and placed them on either side of his face. It seemed to be a subconscious sort of motion, but I was pulled forward until I was nearly laying on his chest. My own was heaving in a not-so-ladylike way.

"You were in my dream that night," he whispered, arresting me in his grip. Again.

I guessed that I didn't exactly mind.

"Really?" I started to get nervous. I bit my lip. I was almost afraid to ask, but I had to. Really, I had to, didn't I?

"What was it like?" I whispered, wincing slightly. I was so afraid of his answer that I thought I might pass out.

"We were flying-I mean, on broomstick-you just appeared out of nowhere in a forest, and a clearing showed up, and we flew together, and landed and walked together out into a field of wild grasses and wildflowers…"

I felt my head gradually drooping, and I fought to keep from hyperventilating.

"To the seekers of things that are one of a kind," I whispered to myself, trying to breathe evenly, "the authentic, the rare, the hard-to-define-"

"What are you saying?" Scorpius asked me, his voice tinged with confusion and amusement.

"It's sort of like a serenity prayer-my mum always used to say it to me, it was from an old ice-cream ad*, it'll make me feel better…." I continued to mumble the poem to myself, until I was done. Scorpius waited, clearly amused, but he didn't say anything.

"That's pretty," Scorpius whispered when I had finished, a smile in his voice.

"I know, I thought it was the most beautiful thing when I was little-Mum said it was from a television commercial, and I always asked her to repeat it to me when I didn't feel well-I think that's why it makes me feel better."

"Do you?" Scorpius asked. "Feel better, I mean?"

"Yes," I said, plopping down in the plastic chair, which wobbled. I was still very close to Scorpius, my hands still in position under his own on his chest. He rubbed the back of one of my hands with his, I think understanding now that I was, really, anxious.

"I just-I mean, I can't believe it-that was my dream-"

"Well, I had that sort of figured out by your reaction-"

"I could have been hyperventilating for any reason-"

"And it just happened to be after I mentioned the dream-"

"Uh-yeah." I would have folded my arms over my chest for added emphasis if my hands had been free.

Scorpius regarded me out of one eye for a moment, and then grinned his wide, Cheshire Cat smile. "That was sort of a pathetic argument, you know."

"Yeah."

"So you think the potion iyou/i drank made ime/i dream the same thing as you?"

"Not exactly," I said, feeling my face morph into a confused expression. "I think that my potion made me really be in your dream. You would have-er-dreamedofmeanyways." I said very quickly, half-hoping that he didn't understand me. He did. I went on, "And the potion made sure that I wasn't just a product of the random firing of chemicals at your brainstem-I was really there, in conscious form." I wanted to scratch my head.

"You were rather quiet for being there in conscious form," Scorpius mused, finally letting go of my hands, smirking.

"Yeah, well, maybe someday I'll explain it," I said, indulging myself by scratching my head and folding my arms.

"I'll wait till then, you know," he said softly, his low voice sounding suddenly serious. My head snapped up to look at him, but his face split into a smile. "You're not getting out of it that easily."

We were silent for a long time. I readjusted my chair and looked out of the window at the white landscape, losing myself in thought.

"Rose?"

I looked at Scorpius over my shoulder. He was looking up at me through his lashes. I bet he practices that look, I thought to myself, though my heart swooned at the sight.

"Hm."

"I wanted to ask you something."

"Okay."

"D'you want to go into Hogsmeade together?"

I hadn't been expecting that. My voice was stuck in my throat.

"Er-yes," I finally managed to say.

He beamed at me, and I could just guess that I was beaming back.

"You know, it's the least I can do, to offer you a day of amusement and fun in return for the rest of my life."

"Don't go off on that again," I warned, wagging my finger at him, mock-stern.

"Sorry, Mum."

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey nearly bellowed as she came out of her back office and descended upon him, "I believe you are restored satisfactorily. You may carry on your way," she said, gesturing to the oak doors. "If I may say so, you're much more well-mannered and much less whiny than your father was at your age."

Scorpius smiled sheepishly and shrugged as he clambered out of the bed, readjusting his scarlet robes. "He's had his ups and downs, Dad has."

I hastily stowed my journal in my bag.

We walked out of the room together.

"GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE!" Molly screamed at the top of her lungs on Monday morning.

I started violently, upheaving my pillow into the air.

"Why must you always shriek in the mornings?" I complained as loudly as I could manage. I knew Molly was simply smiling serenely.

"We've got to go to Potions," Molly said in a whisper. I looked up to see her hovering over me, lying in the air like Peeves was apt to do.

"You know, you bear a certain resemblance to the school Poltergeist," I said grumpily, summoning my pillow back to the bed and using it to cover my head-mainly my ears.

"He's taught me many things," Molly said, devilishly in my ear. I shuddered and pushed her away. I saw a wild flailing of limbs and a moment later a resounding crash! as well as a large gouge in one of my side curtains, which alerted me to the fact that perhaps I'd pushed her out of the air.

I couldn't help but chortle until I was cut short by a wallop to the back of my head.

"I'm not fixing that," Molly asserted, pointing vehemently to the rip in my curtain before stalking off in the direction of the door.

"Reparo," I said, pointing my wand at the curtain. It sealed itself, shielding me from the sunlight that had come streaming through before.

Sunlight?

"WHAT TIME IS IT?" I hollered, leaping out of bed and running to my wardrobe, stripping as quickly as I could and pulling on my school robe.

"Nearly eight," Molly said, and I instantly felt tired again, noticing for the first time that Aednat, Jamila and Amelie were still sleeping. I walked over to Amelie and poked her cheek. She simply snorted and turned over in bed.

I knew the feeling of the expression on my face and associated it with a look of mingled horror and confusion.

"iWhat/i is wrong with these girls?" I asked myself, shaking my head, running to each of their beds and poking each of their faces in turn. Jamila responded in a more promising matter, reaching up to swat my finger away with her hand before readjusting herself.

"They're stalking the corridors at night, looking for new exits off the grounds," Molly offered without any trace of hesitancy.

"Oh," I said, frowning. "That sounds like something we used to do."

"It is something we used to do," Molly said, grabbing my arm and dragging me to the bathroom, where she put my toothbrush in my hand and sat down on her wicker hamper. "Besides, they're amateurs anyways. All the passages they've found are ones we'd discovered by third year."

"Whay ah-r dey doing it?" I asked through toothpaste, brushing methodically.

"To be noticed," Molly said, rolling her eyes. "Obviously."

"Hmph," I grunted. I spit and rinsed my mouth. "We never wanted glory." I looked at myself in the mirror, then walked over to the shower and turned it on, leaving the door open so the steam would fill the room. I sat on my own wicker hamper, facing Molly, and shrugged. "It just happened to be a nice side-effect of our regular escapades."

Molly and I chatted and mused at our old and regular outings into the corridors at night when we were younger, and before I had become a prefect. I showered and dried my hair, and it was eight-thirty by the time we headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast with our school bags.

"Your tie is crooked," Molly whined as we entered the common room. I stopped grudgingly and let her readjust it.

I had often attempted to time the walk from Gryffindor tower to the Great Hall, to convince the teachers that it really was the longest trek and should somehow have been magically shortened to augment our situation. However, I consistently became bored after I had reached about three minutes, and had consistently given up, telling myself, "you'll manage to do it next time." Of course, I had never been able to, not even today. When we reached the portrait of the mourning banshee on the fifth floor, it was like relief washed over me, since I knew it was this point where I always stopped, and I wouldn't feel pressured to make it any further.

"I'm guessing ten minutes," I announced as we began to walk down the flagstone steps that marked entrance to the Entrance Hall.

"You timed it this time?" Molly asked, obvious surprise in her voice.

"Well, no," I confessed, "but it's probably a good estimate."

"We'll figure out a spell," Molly whispered as we entered the Great Hall and headed for the Gryffindor table. "One that keeps time for us, and then you'll really know." She patted my shoulder.

"How didn't I think of that before?" I mused to the general vicinity as we sat down opposite Albus and Trevor.

"Think of what?" Al asked, piling eggs onto his plate.

"A spell to keep time," I said, loading up my plate with everything I could reach-toast, eggs, beans, bacon, sausage, mushrooms and fried tomatoes.

"You a little hungry today?" Trevor asked me, his eyes raised at my plate.

"Well-yes."

Molly and Albus exchanged looks, the usual-half-amused, half-exasperated. I just raised my eyebrows and grinned, eating my good, hearty breakfast.

"She always eats a lot and maintains her stature of a beanpole."

"It's Dad's fault," I said, taking a swig of pumpkin juice.

"Where's Scorpius?" Molly asked. I felt my cheeks become warm, and my stomach flip-flopped violently, like a fish.

"He came down earlier to eat, and he's back up in the dormitory now, I think. It's free-day in potions and he had a sudden idea and needed to gather the ingredients."

"He doesn't have them in his cupboard?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"It's something really different, he said," Trevor reported. "I don't actually think he's in the dormitory, I think he's out flying around the grounds searching for things."

As if on cue, Scorpius walked into the Great Hall with a paper bag, the top of which was folded closed, under his arm, looking quite windswept. The fastening on his cloak was resting on his left shoulder, and his hair was tousled in a rather attractive way. I pressed my eyes closed as my stomach reacted violently to his presence and my heart fluttered in my chest. He marched over to the Gryffindor table, sitting down next to Al and stowing the bag, which looked wet in some places, under the table.

"Good morning, Rose," he said softly, smiling, his dark periwinkle eyes probing mine.

"Morning, Scorpius." I tried to maintain control over my blush, looking down, as if that would stop him from seeing.

"Morning, Molly, Al, Trevor," Scorpius said cheerily to the rest of them, picking up an apple and twirling it in his fingers.

Molly nudged me in the ribs as she responded. I tried not to smile too brightly.

The first bell rang, and as a whole, almost like a creature, the kids in the Great Hall all stood, put on their bags, and headed towards their classes. The sixth year Gryffindors all packed tightly together in a clump, heading towards the dungeons.

I was stuck between Molly and Albus. At one moment I was contemplating how to break us away from the conglomeration that was slowly shepherding us in the wrong direction, and at the next I was worried about a small, sharp pain that was occurring on the back of my arm. I whipped my head around to see that Al was poking me, and probably it's not too much to say that it was with all of the strength he could muster. I was glad to see, as well, that he was spluttering out curls from my hair. I supposed, with a certain satisfaction, that I had whipped his face thoroughly with my wild mane when I had turned around.

"I was just going to ask you what you were going to make today," he said, trying his best to sound wounded. It just wasn't convincing.

"Have I told you before that you shouldn't count on acting as a future career?" I joked, maintaining a firm grip on Molly's robes; she was starting the difficult process of breaking off from the pack.

"Only about a thousand times," Al whined, but he stopped poking me. "What are you going to make?"

"A perfume."

"Perfume? Why not cologne?"

"Why not perfume? iYou/i just want to be able to wear it, isn't that right?"

"Well I was just thinking, for birthday presents…"

"Al, your birthday isn't until March," I turned around just to frown at him. "I have plenty of time to get you something."

"But this way you wouldn't have to worry about it."

He had a point. "Okay," I said, giving in. "On one condition."

I turned around to see Al doing a sort of jig; a victory dance, I assumed.

"One condition!" I said, giving the side of his head a soft smack.

"Okay, okay."

"You have to make something for me," I said with what I imagined to be an impish smile. Al was just as good at potions as I was. I could get something equally good out of this deal.

Al seemed to weigh his options, crossing his eyes as usual. I felt like smacking him, but waited patiently instead. "Deal," he said finally, sticking out his hand.

I shook it. "Deal."

"What are you guys doing?" Molly piped from in front of me as we broke off from the rest of the students.

"Making a deal. We're each making each other something today."

"What are you making?"

"I'm making a cologne…I already have so many ideas," I said, excited.

"I don't know yet…" Al said. You could practically hear the ideas buzzing through his head.

We reached the long corridor that lead to the dungeons and broke off, finally allowing ourselves room to breathe.

"Phew," Trevor sighed, pretending to wipe his brow. We all laughed.

"So Scorpius," Albus began, "iwhat/i in the name of iMerlin/i was all of that scurrying around this morning?"

Scorpius smiled secretively. "I wanted to make something different in potions today than I had originally planned…so I needed to gather ingredients." He shrugged, holding up the paper bag. I saw now that it definitely was wet in the corners.

Scorpius saw me eyeing the bag suspiciously. "Don't worry," he said, patting my shoulder. It seemed suddenly that my heart turned soft. "Nothing evil in here."

We filed into the classroom, where Professor Slughorn was standing near the whiteboard, stirring the left-most one of three potions that were on display at the front of the room. They were hovering in the air over small burners, which were, I guessed, keeping them warm. The lighting was low, which made the contents of the cauldrons seem to glow. I was sure Professor Slughorn was reveling in the drama he'd created.

"Now, now, class," Slughorn said, gesturing to our tables. "Please take your seats, and I'll begin the lesson."

We all scrambled to our seats, Al and Molly each stepping on one of my feet in the process. "Ow!" I squealed, only to receive a blow on the back of the head from Addae Jordan as he ran for his seat. I looked back, rubbing my head gingerly, to see him wink at me. I scowled unintentionally, but decided not to apologize, sitting down angrily.

"Did you see that?" I hissed at Molly, who was staring blankly past my head. She shook her head, snapping back to life.

"No-I mean, yes, he didn't mean anything," she said, shrugging and turning around in her seat as the dull roar of excitement fizzled out and Professor Slughorn cleared his throat.

"Now, I usually give this demonstration earlier in the year-for your first lesson, actually. But in the past years I've found that students are more successful on this day if they have a couple months of preparation. The stakes are high, ladies and gentlemen…" He let his voice trail off dramatically, pulling his hands up to his chin and wiggling his fingers, making an "o" with his small mouth, dwarfed by his large mustache.

"Enough with the idrama/i," Al mumbled under his breath. He turned around in his seat to look pointedly at me. I made a mockingly sympathetic face and pretended to scrub my eyes. He sighed and turned around again.

"As you know, and as you have been preparing for, today is free-potion day. However, you should all have come prepared, having gathered your ingredients over the past few months and having brought them in over the same amount of time. You will be competing by brewing any potion you want-by the books, or by your own imagination." His light eyes flickered over to Molly and I. She turned around to grin at me. I grinned back happily, growing more and more excited to brew my cologne. I was pretty sure no one else would have thought to have been that creative, so I had a fair shot at winning, whatever the prize was.

"At the end of two hours, I will walk around the room and take samples of each of your potions-I'll expect an explanation of the intended effects and if I deem it safe, we'll test them.

"Now, you're probably wondering about these cauldrons, aren't you?" Slughorn continued, his voice tinged with obvious relish at being about to divulge this great secret. He rubbed his hands together excitedly. "I've prepared these for you to look at, just to see them. When you're done with your N.E.W.T.s, you should be able to whip up one of these with relative ease. Anyways, you should be relatively familiar with them already. Can anyone tell me what they are?" he asked, pointing to the bubbling concoctions. I stood on my knees on my stool to see them, and immediately my hand shot up in the air.

"Miss Weasley?"

"The clear one is Veritaserum, and the one in the middle is, I think, Amortentia."

"Good, good. Now, as you should know by now, Veritaserum is a powerful truth potion that forces the person who drinks it to tell the truth. It isn't often used in court anymore, since there are ways to evade its magical effects if you've had enough experience.

"Now, Amortentia is something that, I imagine, would appeal more to the female portion of this room. It's one of the most powerful love potions in the world; though of course, you can't actually fabricate love, only obsessive attraction and infatuation. It's recognizable by its color, resembling a pearl, and the way that the steam spirals off of it."

"It also has a different scent to each person who smells it, depending on what attracts each of us," I remarked, a little too loudly. The class heard, and Professor Slughorn simply nodded, clearly not surprised by my active participation in his classroom lectures.

"What do iyou/i smell?"

I thought that was rather personal, but I got up anyways to get nearer to it, just to know what I smelled. "Lavender," I mused, identifying the scent as the strongest. "New parchment," I listed next. The next scent was unmistakable, but I wasn't about to announce it to the class. I said instead, "Something spicy and sweet." I walked quickly back to my seat while the class applauded politely and Professor Slughorn let them line up in a single file to find out what they smelled themselves.

Molly got back, plopping down on her stool, smiling serenely. "Peppermint, Broom-polishing oil, and Al's shampoo ," she announced loudly, getting a look from one of the boys. I started, shocked by that information. She didn't notice, just turned to me, her eyes flying open. "What was that last one you smelled?"

"iAl's shampoo?/i"

"You too? I didn't think it smelled spicy-"

"No, no, I mean you smelled Al's shampoo?"

She nodded shamelessly.

"I KNEW IT!" I declared victoriously. "I knew you fancied him. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" I did a sort of dance in my seat.

"Do I?" Molly asked, looking genuinely confused. "Maybe I do," she said, looking back at Al, who was standing in line, scratching his armpit.

Molly and I locked eyes and shook our heads simultaneously.

"Never mind," I offered grudgingly.

"Now tell me." Molly folded her arms to signal me that she meant business. I sighed.

"It was Scorpius-" I whispered in a voice that was barely audible. She heard it though, I think having been anticipating this answer. A grin spread over her face slowly, and then she was beaming uncontrollably.

"I knew it!" she said, with a knowing smile.

"It's some sort of cologne he wears, I think, or else his shampoo…"

"You're going to have to give me details about what happened in the hospital wing-"

"Molly!" I tried to swipe her, but she dodged my palm.

"Just kidding, Rosie, I know you're too idealistic to even let him ikiss/i you before he can make friends with your dad," she whispered, rolling her eyes and fluttering her eyelashes.

I forced a smile, resisting the urge to push her over backwards.

I thought about it a minute, and then decided, "Actually-you're right."

"Now that we've covered these two potions, I'd like to move on to the last one." Slughorn cleared his throat noisily to garner our attention. "This one, I doubt any of you have ever seen but have most-likely heard of. It's called, Felix Felicis."

I gasped loudly, and heard Al's sharp intake of breath.

"Mr. Potter, I believe that you could enlighten the class as to the properties of this particular brew," Slughorn bellowed in the quiet room, gesturing with a wide, sweeping motion to Albus, who seemed a little uncomfortable to have so many pairs of eyes watching him at once.

"Yeah, my dad won it in your class years ago," Al said, scratching the back of his head. I saw Molly elbow him in the ribs, and his arm snapped down, where he rubbed his side and continued. "It makes you lucky. Everything you do will turn out right, or how you want it to, when you drink it. Dad took it mouthful at a time, and even a drop of it saved Mum's life during the first battle at Hogwarts over twenty years ago. Rosie's mum and dad also took it that day, and it saved their lives, too."

Al's simple explanation had had the class on tenterhooks-they continued to stare at him expectantly until he shrugged to signal that he didn't have anything else to say.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter, take ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, that is exactly what it does, it makes the drinker lucky. However, you wouldn't want to take it too much, since it can have some serious and disastrous side-effects, besides the fact that it's extremely tricky to make. Now, I will be awarding a small phial of the potion to the winner of today's competition!"

The class erupted into excited whispers, prodding their friends on the shoulders to explain exactly how they were going to win this phial. "You're lucky that we don't have classes the same way that we used to when your parents were in attendance-since this is just sixth-year Gryffindor, each of you will have a greater chance of winning the phial than did the students when they did this class by year! Can you imagine competing against all four houses of your year? No, no, much better odds these days…" Slughorn continued on this tangent for a while, until Molly stuck her hand into the air and waved it around.

"Er-Oh, yes, Miss Pratt?"

"Excuse me, sir, but can we begin mixing our potions now?" Molly's voice was treacly and innocent.

"Oh, yes! Yes, begin now-" Slughorn said, looking at the clock, "And I'll stop you in two hours." He banged his wand on the large pewter cauldron he'd been stirring, and a flurry of rapid activity commenced as we each attempted to arrange our ingredients and equipment as fast as we could on our tables.

"Ugh," Trevor said. I felt bad for Trevor; he'd inherited his father's dismal skills at potions. "I can't get my burner to work-can you, Rose?"

"Yeah, let me help you," I said, and reached over and prodded his burner with my wand. It flared up instantly. Trevor sighed and shook his head, reaching down wordlessly into the cabinet below our table to draw out his things.

I tried to crane my neck to see over Al's head, so I could see what Scorpius, but he was hunched over his ingredients, probably to stop the prying eyes that were sure to look over. I sighed, then reached down to the storage cabinet and pulled out all of my herbs and spices and things. I set them out neatly on a glass tray on the right side of my cauldron and turned on my burner.

"What are you making, Rose?" Trevor asked nervously as I pulled out a flask of alcohol.

"Cologne," I said, frowning, counting ingredients.

"Do you know how to?"

"No, but I think the whole magic thing will really just make a cologne out of all the things I put in the cauldron," I muttered, turning up the burner until the flames were blue.

"Oh. Hey, is that broom-polishing oil?" he asked, gesturing at the tin I had just pulled out.

"Yeah, I think it smells nice."

"Treacle tart?" He looked skeptically at the plate.

"Yes! I think if I pound it before I add it in it'll mix nicely."

Trevor clapped a hand to his forehead, shaking his head. "I'm just going for a simple Colour-Changing potion, maybe in a nice lilac colour. I figure if it works I can give it to Great-Grandma for hair-dye."

"I bet you could sell that around here!" Molly chimed, setting out her own ingredients. One of the phials seemed to be filled with cat hair.

"Uh, Molly-what are you making?" I asked her nervously.

"An antidote to common poisons," she replied calmly, setting out still more ingredients.

I was pleasantly surprised. I had thought that she was going to just make something up, which hardly ever turned out well, especially with her. "Oh," I said happily, and pulled out my wand, raising it up to perform a spell, when Molly chirped out, startling me.

"You know why Scorpius fell during the match?"

"Er-no, I never asked him," I confessed, fingering my wand.

"He was watching you do that spell you did, something that shot water out of your wand."

"What? Watching me, when he was playing a match?" I shook my head. "He was jesting, I'm sure, when he supplied you with that explanation."

"How would he know you did it if he wasn't watching?" Albus piped up, and I turned to look at him. His eyebrows were raised. "He told me that night, and I passed the message along to Miss Pratt, here, whom I assumed would have already told you." He elbowed her.

"I was waiting for the right moment, like now," Molly muttered out of the side of her mouth, elbowing him back.

"Hm," I said, looking slyly over at the back of Scorpius's head, noting in the process that the hair on his lower layers was really almost like a golden-brown rather than a blond.

I poked the tip of my wand into the cauldron, deciding to use the spell without saying the incantation out loud. Aguamenti, I said in my head, and a stream of water filled up my cauldron half-way. I smiled, satisfied, setting my wand aside.

I looked down at the instruction sheet that I had written for step one.

i1) Add the alcohol and let it simmer for two minutes without stirring./i

I obediently popped the cork off of the bottle of alcohol and poured its contents into the cauldron. It bubbled slightly and turned a sort of opaque white. I grimaced.

"I hope that's not going to be the color of the final product, Rosie, I won't splash what looks like watered-down milk onto my neck without compensation."

"It's not, Al, don't worry. If all goes according to plan-" All three of them sniggered. I started over, rolling my eyes. "If it all goes according to plan, then it should be a deep gold or ochre colour when I'm done."

He nodded and got back to his potion, which I'm quite sure was actually a beef stew.

I shook my head and looked back down to the instructions.

i2) Add butterbeer slowly, stirring twice counter-clockwise after each tablespoon./i

I obeyed, popping yet another cork off and adding in the butterbeer carefully, stirring just as directed.

i3) Add in crushed treacle tart (mash this into a paste with the mortar and pestle)./i

I did this, adding the clump of pastry to the potion. It immediately dissolved and fizzed out of sight, leaving a light-blue, clear solution simmering in my cauldron. It resembled dyed water.

i4) Stir once in each direction, starting with clockwise. Should deepen to a dark blue, yet remain transparent./i

I hoped this was right-after all, when developing the instructions, I had just been guessing.

I stirred it, moving my wand clockwise once, then counter-clockwise. The potion instantly darkened to a deep, ocean-blue. I peered into the cauldron to see that it was, indeed, transparent. I raised my eyebrows, a little surprised.

I continued to follow the instructions, step by step, until an hour had passed and I reached a point of constant stirring and boiling.

"Mmmm," Molly said from across the table. "What's in there, Rose?"

"Butterbeer, treacle tart, chamomile flowers, hibiscus flowers, spearmint, lemongrass, rose petals, blackberry leaves, safflowers, sarsaparilla, lemon balm, and licorice root," I listed off, stirring all the while.

"It smells a little like tea," Albus said, a strain of worry in his voice. "I mean, it's nice and all," he said in a loud whisper, leaning towards me across the table, "But is it going to smell more manly?"

A laugh burst out of my lips. "Yes, I expect so. At least, when I add the last ingredients," I said, still laughing.

He looked a little sheepish, but pleased, and went back to his stew.

"I'm adding frozen Ashwinder eggs for an extra element of attraction," I whispered to Molly behind my hand. "Al needs all the help he can get with the ladies." I wiggled my eyebrows, and Molly giggled, looking sideways at Al, who was oblivious, chopping carrots with his brows furrowed. I shrugged and kept stirring.

i15) Add the broom-polishing oil, stirring counter-clockwise seven times, and adding two clockwise stirs. By this step, the potion's colour will be set, and should not change./i

I added the thick oil to the mixture, which was currently a light, buttery gold. I stirred it in the appropriate manner, and it immediately darkened to the colour of treacle, which is what I had been after. I smirked, satisfied. There were only two more steps that included stirring in various spices. I stopped at a half-hour before Slughorn called time, and decided to turn the heat down and let the potion reduce in the meantime. Slughorn was wading between the rows, probably checking to see if anyone was attempting to make a poison; or worse, succeeding.

I sat a while and relaxed, leaning back on the table with my eyes closed.

iClang! Clang! Clang!/i

I nearly fell from my chair in surprise, and looked up to see Professor Slughorn banging with his wand on a cowbell he'd conjured from thin air, signaling the end of our time.

iClassy/i...? Does this sight even deserve sarcasm? I pinched the bridge of my nose with my forefinger and thumb and heaved a sigh. Please don't let him be holding that when I look up, please please please…

I looked up and around the classroom for the first time, avoiding looking at Professor Slughorn. It was a comical, yet also slightly alarming sight, each cauldron emitting its own coloured steam, ranging from the natural, water-born type to opaque blues, greens, and even pinks. I turned in my seat to look at Trevor's potion, which was actually a nice, albeit slightly bright, shade of lilac, just as he had hoped. I patted him on the back. He looked a little dumbstruck himself.

"Oho!" Professor Slughorn exclaimed loudly as he reached Scorpius's desk, "oho!"

"Excuse us, sir, but what's 'ioho/i'?" Molly asked impatiently.

"Mr. Malfoy has created something ingenious! A sort of magical clay, I suppose-what are it's properties?" he mumbled excitedly to Scorpius, who looked back at me and winked. I felt my cheeks grow hot.

"What I'm hoping is that when a person fashions the wet clay into a sort of-say, creature-and then fires it in a magical fire, the figure will take on the properties of the creature it's modeling."

"Oho!" This seemed to be all Slughorn was capable of saying. "As I had surmised-very well done, Mr. Malfoy!"

Scorpius nodded and thanked him modestly. I found myself staring at him when his blue eyes locked with mine for a moment too long. I tried not to make it look obvious when I snapped my head down to look away.

"So, Mr. Potter," Professor Slughorn said after having circled the rest of the room, and I ducked down to rest my elbow on the table, using my hand to shield my eyes.

"Is he still holding that ridiculous cow-bell?" I mouthed vehemently to Molly, who glanced up. Her eyes glazed over for a moment before she reached up and very rapidly wrested the bell from Slughorn's grip, before he even realised what she was doing.

"Miss Pratt!" He exclaimed, shocked, "What do you want with my cowbell?"

"Collection," Molly muttered, stowing it in her bag. Slughorn stared at her, nonplussed. He shook his head and continued to interrogate Al about his stew, whose intended effects were "to taste like the best beef stew anyone's ever tried." Slughorn decided to keep Molly's Antidote to Common Poisons on hand before tasting it, but it ended up that Al's potion skills were right on cue and it was, in fact, the best beef stew Slughorn had ever tasted. Al guarded it from the class, however-up until this point, I had forgotten that he was making it for me. I grinned as he passed me the jar that he had stored it in.

"And Mr. Longbottom," Slughorn said, reaching our side of the table. "To my delight, I believe that I can proclaim your Colour-Changing Potion quite satisfactory." Trevor let out the breath he had been holding in, waiting for Slughorn's sympathy as usual. Slughorn took out a small turkey baster from his pocket and siphoned up some of Trevor's potion.

"I'll test it, sir!" Molly volunteered before Slughorn could ask. He nodded and poured a small stream of the potion down the chunk of hair Molly was indicating with a finger. It fizzled and clouded up, and then turned a magnificent shade of lilac. Trevor grinned thankfully at Molly, who had managed to wrest the baster from Slughorn's hand and was proceeding to dye other strands of hair.

Slughorn moved on to my cauldron and instantly I head him sniffing. I rolled my eyes and had to refrain from letting my forehead fall into my palm. "Oho, Miss Weasley, what have we here?"

"It's a cologne-of sorts."

"And do we have any volunteers to try this out?"

All of the boys in the class raised their hands.

"Mr. Malfoy, if nothing else, you deserve to wear this," Slughorn said proudly, beaming at Scorpius. He smiled and walked over to Slughorn, who had conjured up an old perfume bottle. He spritzed it onto Scorpius's neck. It smelled really good-you could smell all the herbs-the camomile, the rose petals, the blackberry leaves, the peppermint…

Peppermint? Oh, no…

"Molly," I hissed, bending low to the table so as not to be noticed. She looked over at me, half of her head of hair a nice shade of french lilac. I snapped out of it, whispering, "Did you add a sprig of peppermint to my cologne?"

Her eyes widened and she clapped a hand to her mouth. "Yes, I did…I mean, Al needs all the help he can get, walking around scratching his armpit and all-but-Rose-there's something else…" She looked up at Scorpius nervously.

"You didn't," I moaned, knowing all too well that her famous combination was peppermint and apples, both of which enhanced and strengthened the intended effects of the potion-so it would smell like the nicest thing you'd ever smelled, but also, it would be very, very attractive to women. She nodded, stifling a laugh.

Professor Slughorn somehow got us all applauding, and awarded the small phial of the golden Felix Felicis to Scorpius. "Not that you seem to need it, eh?" He said in a booming laugh, looking at the way that all of the girls were eyeing Scorpius, fluttering their eyelashes. Scorpius looked slightly concerned, and I saw his eyes flash over to me, full of questions. I shrugged, not meeting his eyes, and was torn between laughing and crying.

As the bell rang and we all packed up our stuff, I saw Scorpius, who had been headed over to our table, become suddenly surrounded by the gaggle of sixth-year girls. There were only three besides Molly and I, but they managed to keep him from reaching us for the whole amount of time it took me to pour my cologne into a giant glass bottle for Al, who had been staring at Scorpius's predicament. He looked at me suspiciously, and I tried not to look guilty as I raised my eyebrows and shrugged.

I stowed the bottle away in my bag, where the gentle sloshing of the liquid reminded me of its presence the whole trek back up to Gryffindor tower. I was seething with a calm, mild jealousy as I watched out of the corner of my eye Scorpius being escorted back to the tower by Aednat, Jamila, and Amelie, as well as about twenty other girls from all different years who had glommed on to the gaggle as it had passed by. It was a slightly comical sight, but Scorpius looked so cool and collected that I couldn't help but feel the way I did-unsure, and, as I described, slightly jealous.

Scorpius managed to shake off most of the girls when we reached the portrait hole, since they couldn't really come in. But a group of about seven girls, who, unfortunately, were Gryffindors, continued to mill around him and giggle hysterically. I thought I might have seen a flash of understanding suddenly in Scorpius's eyes, recognizing the semi-effects of a semi-love potion-they widened and receded so quickly that it might not have even happened, but I'm sure that he looked up at me with a certain, shrewd question in his eyes before I snapped my head down and pretended not to have noticed.

I bounded up the stairs to the sixth-year dormitory, dropped my things off, and headed down the staircase with Molly, joking and laughing quietly. We bounded to a stop at the foot of the stairs, nearly skidding in the suddenness.

Scorpius was waiting there, incredibly alone. He was leaning on one arm, the picture of confidence and ease-and handsomeness. I smiled up at him, trying not to betray the vestiges of jealousy that still remained somewhere deep in my heart.

Molly looked from his face to mine, and bounded off to take Trevor by the arm and walk out of the common room with him, humming loudly. It was empty, the rest of the house having gone down to lunch already.

I looked up at Scorpius, my face twisting into a i"so…what now?"/i look.

He closed the space between us in one fluid motion, gathering me into a rib-splitting hug. I let out a laugh, surprised, and hugged him back, one of my hands landing on the arm he had loged around my neck.

"Don't worry, Rosie," he whispered into my hair, disrupting a few curls with his warm breath. "iYou're/i the girl for me."

And he kissed the top of my head.

hr /

* This "ice cream ad" is the current Häagen Dazs commercial; it's up on their website too :)

(a/n: I know this chapter is sort of-extremely?-long, but I had quite a lot to cover in the development of Rose and Scorpius's relationship :) Also, I know I went into painstaking and maybe annoying detail about Rose's potion making, but I wanted to get the point across that she's very adept at potions so that you'd understand some things that happen later on in the story, and also just because :) The next one should be back to normal length. Thanks for sticking with me and waiting so patiently for new chapters!)


	6. Chapter 6

i26 November 2022

he is sleeping.

you look like the grass

on a dry hot day

when the wildflowers are mostly wilted

but the few sprays that remain

give up their spirits like fragrance

to the arid air

and it is heavy with the

sticky

flavour of colour

and the tangerine thoughts

of summer

and the sky is clear

only little bees get in the way

of the bowl-shaped sun.

(the grass on these days

is lovely.)/i

"He said iwhat/i?" Molly yelped at me as we sat on my bed together, cross-legged, facing each other.

"Don't worry Rosie," I dramatised in a deep, male voice, wrapping my arm around her neck and burying my nose in her hair, as Scorpius had done with me. "iYOU'RE/i the girl for me." I kissed her head for emphasis.

"Haiha/i!" Molly laughed jubilantly, bouncing up and down. "I KNEW IT!"

"You did inot/i," I said, rolling my eyes and letting go of her head.

"How come you didn't tell me at lunch? How could you istand/i it, not saying anything?" Molly asked breathlessly, as if it were she who had been kissed by the most gorgeous boy in the school.

"Well-he was there! I couldn't let on how excited or nervous or-confused-I was in front of him, could I?"

"No, no, I guess you're right-hey, I did notice him making more sheep's eyes at you than usual-"

"More than usual? Since when does he do that?"

"All the time, you're just too busy staring at the ceiling from rolling your eyes to notice."

My head tilted to the side, this information spreading a whole new light on this situation. "Oh, really? I thought it was so sudden-"

"Are you joking, iRosie/i?" Molly said, lowering her voice to a deep baritone to say my name, doing a pretty good imitation of Scorpius's voice. "He winks at you every time he has the chance!" She winked at me herself, and I reconsidered.

"Yeah-I guess he does-I had been telling myself those were 'hey friend, watch ithis/i' winks."

"They were more like, 'hey iba/iby, I looooooooooove you'-"

Our voices erupted in giggles. As usual, the other three girls ignored our volume. I'll have to write them each individual, ten-page thank you letters before we graduate.

"Well I nearly died in Arithmancy," I announced, "I couldn't wait to tell you, and I kept running through his numbers, totally distracted from the lesson…" I sighed and zoned out, thinking about all of the calculations I had made. "Although, I don't really trust it completely, Arithmancy is clearly more logical than all of that codswallop-Divination foolery."

"Are you compatible?" Molly asked, interested.

"Well," I said, and then summoned the notes I had been taking in class. I had printed at the top, "ROSE BRIELLE WEASLEY."

I went on to explain the numbers, since Molly didn't take Arithmancy. "I have a 3, 5, and 7. The three is my character number; it's a good number, the first complete digit. These people are artistic, extroverted-I'm not sure if this is true for me-they are sensitive to beauty-and sort of easy to read. Now, the five," I said, moving on to the next number, "That's my social number. Generally speaking, it indicates a short attention span, insecurity, instability, intelligence, art, spirit, wit, and flexibility. Could possibly have a quick temper."

"The seven is my favorite, and I'm glad I have it," I said, pointing to my scribbles. "People with sevens have an air of mysticism and spirituality about them, and they're always searching for their real self. They're very intelligent and usually like school, things like art, music, writing, and literatue. They're pretty gifted and have the capacity to succeed, but on the downside, they can be hindered by their insecurities."

I pulled out another sheet of parchment, upon whose top I had scrawled, "SCORPIUS HYPERION MALFOY."

"Now," I said, pointing to a certain scribble. "Scorpius has a 5, 9, and 5. It's rare to have a nine-it's the perfect number. You know if you work out the alphabet its numbers are 3, 6, and 9? Anyways-" I said, since Molly didn't seem to be impressed by this impressive and mind-boggling information, "I explained the five to you already. I'm not sure what it means that he has two, or if that's significant at all-but there you are. For nine, I'm going to have a lot of things to say, because we crave to see this number and have a lot of information for it. So. The nines are bold, enthusiastic, and constantly changing. They're courageous and have a certain amount of vigor-they're goal-oriented, and they work towards their goals constantly but they never really make a huge show of it-acquiring things like this is in their nature, it's just how they work-not like, you know, a quest or anything. They're pretty confident and know what they want and what they like…they're loyal, they're honest-they're not capricious or duplicitous…they're generally pretty secure people, good self-esteem…and the thing they need more than anything is a deep love and deep affection to fulfill their well-being."*

"You know all this just by the numbers?"

"Of course none of it's guaranteed, but magic does have a certain knack for being right. There's a lot more to Arithmancy than crunching numbers but I find it logical and at least a little more dependable than the interpretation of clumps of wet leaves." I shuffled my notes back into order and banished them back into my bag. "Anyways, there aren't really-rules-to compatibility, but our numbers are related."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, three divides into nine, doesn't it? And we both have a five, and seven and nine are both perfect numbers-seven in the magical sense, nine in the arithmatic sense. So I would say there's a definite possibility that, at least magically, we're compatible." I grinned sheepishly, half at how silly those words had sounded, and half at the fact that I was even having this discussion at all.

"Well I think he's lovely. And I think you're lovely. So logically, you both would be even more lovely together."

"Er-" I said, but stopped myself from pointing out the obvious fallacy and just smiled, understanding that she was just being supportive. "Yeah."

"What's that?" Molly asked, spotting the envelope that had spilled out of my bag onto the floor.

My stomach filled with a slight sense of dread as I remembered.

"Oh, no," I moaned, gripping my face in horror. "It's my mum's letter! I forgot to read it when she sent it-she's probably dying-she's probably flying over here this minute-"

"When did she send it?" Molly said in a tone of voice that alerted me that she was trying to calm me down. It was soothing and I felt a little better even though in my mind I knew I should still feel worried. "Weeks ago," I said, crazed, unable to remember an actual date. "The eighth. I accidentally attacked Scorpius with the Snargaluff, remember?"

"Oh-that iwas/i a long time ago."

I smacked her, summoning the letter and hastily ripping it open, bouncing where I sat out of nerves. I couldn't get it out fast enough, and struggled with it for a moment until I flung my arm into the air, dragging the letter with it. I unfolded it sloppily and began to read it out loud in a mad rush.

i"Hi, honey,

I know you're a busy girl, and so before you worry yourself too much, I was never expecting you to read this the day that you got it. You're like your father, and need to be constantly reminded to open letters and cards as soon as you get them. I figure you'll probably stuff it away in your bag with the best intentions of reading it later, but things always seem to happen to you (I pretend not to know all of the things that you and Molly and Al get into, but remember Neville and I still correspond and I really do), and so I won't be surprised if you don't even read this until weeks later, during which several things have happened that have made it more than easy to forget that your parents have sent you some post.

In light of this, I won't worry (that much!) if I don't hear back for a while."/i

Molly and I let out the breaths we'd been holding, relaxing immediately.

i"Anyways, I know I don't usually write you this early in the year, but something very odd happened to Harry the other day and I just thought that you would like to know. He was looking through George's shop-the Hogsmeade branch-and Draco Malfoy approached him to ask him to have lunch with him at The Three Broomsticks. Of course, Harry being the gentleman that he is, he went with him, though he confessed later that his hand was gripping the handle of his wand the entire walk over. I doubt that Ron would have gone with him, but he always had a hard time seeing how Harry could have saved him in the RoR.

"Again, anyways-Draco wanted to talk to Harry, just to catch up. Now, don't get me wrong. Draco is still a shady character, but has a sense of gratitude towards your uncle for saving him, and for this reason only, I believe, other than the fact that maybe now he realises that Harry was right about Voldemort all along, does he occasionally correspond with him. He asked Harry about Al-he knows that Scorpius and Al are best friends, and although I don't think that either Harry or Draco are very keen on this idea, they both know that their sons are very different people than themselves-amongst other things. How are those two, anyways? I know you're not close with Scorpius, but you should consider befriending him. Draco said to Harry that he is sometimes shy and unsure of himself because of his parentage and his ancestors before him, and places more on his name than perhaps is fair to himself. It would, at the very least, be a nice gesture, and seeing as your mind works in a quite literary manner, I would think that it would be appealing to you.

"I'm going to be in Hogsmeade during the weekend of 3-4 December, which is when I think your second trip of the year takes place. Why is it so late this year? Was there no room during the month of November? Do you still get your Christmas trip? Anyways, I was thinking we could meet for coffee or a butterbeer somewhere. I'd like to hear how your school year is going so far, and hear about any new developments. How has prefect duty been? I would imagine a bit boring. During the times when Dad and I roamed about there was the threat of imminent danger, but nowadays I would guess that the worst thing you find is a couple snogging in the odd broom closet or a pack of second years attempting to bewitch the classroom whiteboard to write foul words.

"See you in Hogsmeade, and don't forget to remind Hugo to flirt within his year exclusively-

"Love from,

Mum."/i

"Well-that's strange," Molly said, frowning. "I mean about Draco and all that."

"Yeah, but he and Uncle Harry correspond sometimes. I think Mum thought it was weird because he actually wanted to see him in person. They write to each other about once a month in an effort to maintain peace between families of both sides of the war," I explained when Molly looked confused. "They're not friends, and Mr. Malfoy is still involved in some groups that could be seen as neo-Death Eater. He and Mum have reconciled their differences, but Dad isn't ready to forgive him yet."

"So you could bridge the gap."

"What?"

"I mean, you and Scorpius."

"I guess…I don't want that to become the focus of our relationship. We're already as modern-day iRomeo and Juliet/i as anyone can get-"

"What? iRomeo and Juliet/i?"

"Muggle play-sort of famous."

"Oh." She rolled her eyes. "You read too much."

"Well, you know, there's a severe shortage of Wizarding literature that will take you past the age of nine."

"What's wrong with iThe Tales of Beedle the Bard/i? Lots of people who are older than nine read that."

"I guess you're right," I said, a grin spreading over my face. "We did translate it as a class in Ancient Runes in fourth year…"

"Okay, okay-so we're interested in other things."

"I would think that you of all people, one of those few who actually continued on to Muggle Studies, would know what I'm talking about when I say that Muggle literature far surpasses our own-we don't have any well known authors, poets-Rita Skeeter is probably the most famous writer, and Celestina Warbeck is the most famous musician besides the Weird Sisters-that, in the grand scheme of things, is a crime."

"What is the grand scheme, anyways?"

"I dunno, but all things seem to follow it."

"Hey," Molly said suddenly after a moment of silence. "What's that?" She was pointing to another piece of badly-folded parchment that was peeking out of Mum's envelope.

"Oh," I said, rolling my eyes and smiling, "That'll be Dad's letter…" I pulled it out and unwrinkled it, smoothing it out with the palms of my hands. As usual, I could hardly read his scrawl.

i"Hey Rosie,"/i I read, squinting severely.

i"I hope that this writing isn't too messy for you-"/i I rolled my eyes. i"-like you usually say it is. I'm going about five percent slower because I need to take up blank space at work. My schedule is very bland, as usual, although I've spent the last half-hour enchanting spit-wads to target Harry's ear. They keep missing and hitting his neck, but it's amusing anyways, since he just swats them confusedly and looks up from The Daily Prophet and around suspiciously. The bloke's a little thick-it's just us two in the office today.

"I hope that you're having a great time at school like you always do so you have stories to tell us when you get home."/i Oh, thanks, Dad. i"I'm tired of Hugo's stories, all the girls he asked to Hogsmeade who smacked him down which somehow adds to his masculinity-bah. At least yours are a little amusing and aren't drivel. I hope you're not being too good, little miss prefect-you can still sneak out on the odd night, I won't tell anyone.

"I've ordered a new broom for you, your second-hand Nimbus is getting a little tired. I figure you can give it to Hugo, he'll be glad to trade it in for his 1000. I got a good deal on it because of Ginny-the Harpies are being sponsored by Firebolt, who's just released the Firebolt IV. She got a few extras, for her kids, and then had one more and decided that even though you don't play on the house team, you're a good flier and having the best broom in the Wizarding world might perk up your interest in the sport. She also told me to remind you that there's going to be an opening on the house team next year, and you should check with Al to find out when he's going to hold house tryouts. I know that's a little premature, but you can't be too eager, can you?

"Anyways, I would love to have the capacity to think of more things to write about, but as Harry's caught on (finally, the git) that it's me who's been plastering him with saliva and parchment, I should really focus more on defending myself.

"Love,

Dad."/i

His signature trailed off indefinitely, off the page even, which signaled to me that Uncle Harry might have caught him by surprise. I stared at it nervously for a moment, and then made up my mind that Harry wouldn't do any lasting damage and that Mum would have written if Dad got really hurt. I re-crumpled it and shoved it back into the envelope before falling backwards onto my pillow. I accidentally hit my head on the headboard, and it created a loud ithud!/i noise. I winced, rubbing the back of my head sorely.

Molly was cackling evilly. I aimed a kick at her with my foot and hit her squarely in the side of the arm, sending her toppling off the side of the bed. She pulled down the curtains with her, rolling halfway across the floor, becoming a scarlet cocoon of fabric and auburn hair. I laughed equally evilly from my perch on the bed, watching as she struggled to unravel herself, her wand still laying on my sheets. She flopped around, looking like a grotesquely-enlarged flobberworm. I was about to take pity on her and help her unearth herself when there was a loud screeching from outside of the dormitory-it sounded like two giant blocks of granite sliding over each other. My hands clapped to my ears automatically, my face contorting into something that looked unpleasant, I'm sure.

"What the hell is that?" Molly's muffled voice shrieked. Her arms were pinned to her sides (though how anyone could fall off of a bed with their arms pinned to their sides is beyond me), so she couldn't cover her ears, and her eyes were watering from the intensity of the noise (and probably also her struggling against the velvet curtains). Her freckled face was screwed up, her nose a small button in a sea of wrinkles. I leapt suddenly off of the bed, slashing a line down the middle of the curtains, out of which Molly scrambled, and we, along with the three other girls, made our ways with our wands outstretched to the dormitory door. I prodded the knob with my wand, whispering i"Alohamora."/i It clicked open and swung wide slowly, creaking. There was no one there.

Aednat gasped suddenly, one hand clapping to cover her mouth and her wand hand pointing down to-what used to be-the stone steps on the circular staircase that lead up to all of our dormitories.

"Oh, no," I groaned, cupping my forehead with my palm. "I wonder who it was-"

"-probably a first year, they wouldn't really know better-"

"-why would a first year try-"

"-right, you've got a point, it was a second or third year-"

"-let's go see!"

"Okay, let's make sure it's clear down there."

They all turned to me, their faces simultaneously blank and expectant.

i"Homenum revelio,"/i I muttered, frowning. "Really girls, you should be able to understand how to look for someone in the magical sense by this-"

"Oh stop it, Rosie, don't you want to ride down to see who tried to sneak up? You could punish them if you thought you should." Molly looked excited.

"Well anyways, there's no one there," I said, rolling my eyes. I guess just to make sure, Molly stuck her head out and shouted that we were coming down. I heard distant applause from the common room. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was wearing my flannel pyjamas and my cat-head slippers.

I was standing in front of the group, and all of a sudden I felt many hands on my back, and I lost my balance, falling onto my backside on the smooth stone slide below. I didn't hit hard rock, like I expected, but rather the stone morphed into a sort of pillowy material as I landed on it, and hardened again as I began to slide down uncontrollably. I couldn't manage to get my legs out of the air, so I just slid down half-way on my back, half-way on my rear end, with my eyes plastered wide open. I heard the other girls whooping from behind me, and a laugh erupted from my throat. My curls were blown back behind me as I whizzed past dormitory after dormitory door, some of which were open and out of which curious heads were peeking. I could hear the third years cheering us on before we reached their door, and when I flew by, one of them stuck her hand out to give me a high-five. I slapped it, feeling out-of-control, laughing maniacally.

As we reached the first year dormitory door I could see light from the common room shining on the stone wall on our left that lined the staircase-I could see shadows of heads and torsos thrown against it as well, one with shaggy hair that anyone could immediately recognize as Albus's-I let out a yelp, partly out of fear and partly as a warning, and I saw the shadows jump out of the way as I came tumbling to a sloppy end out of the staircase, landing on some conveniently-placed poufs that were waiting at the foot of the stairs. I was about to get up when the other four girls toppled out, head over heels, on top of me, pinning me to the ground. I tried grumpily to push them off of me, but failed magnificently. They were giggling giddily as I'm sure I would have felt like doing if I hadn't been supporting two-hundred kilos of their weight.

"Hey, guys, you're smothering Rosie!" I heard Hugo yell from somewhere in the crowd, a laugh in his voice.

"Oh, get up, guys, get up!"

They rolled off me, not quickly enough, probably moving as slow as was possible in this type of situation, and a hand shot out to help me to my feet. I grasped it with both hands and let it pull me up into an embrace. I smelled a sweet and spicy scent, and knew.

"Albus tried to get up," he mumbled, laughing, in the ear that wasn't resting on his chest. "He thought that if he didn't actually touch the stairs, he could get up-he tried to use his broom."

"What?" I said, peeling myself away from Scorpius's warm robes (why was he still dressed? why was everyone else still dressed?) and looking him in the face. "Are you joking, or…"

"No, he's not," Albus's voice admitted in a confessional tone, and I looked over to see him stepping out from the small crowd that had gathered here. "I tried to fly up, but…"

"What happened?" Amelie Finnigan asked, her brogue thick with laughter. I looked over to see that she was trying unsuccessfully to stifle her uncontrollable giggles, tears of joy leaking out of the sides of her eyes.

"There was an invisible wall that I ran into about two feet up and I fell backwards off of my broom-" Albus stopped suddenly, eyeing his broomstick which was laying at the bottom of the staircase. I felt the room inhale sharply as one as we all saw, at the same time, what remained of Al's broom. In shape and form, it was untouched-but it looked as though someone had dunked it into a violently pink colour-changing potion. From the handle to the very last twig, it was entirely bright pink.

Scorpius let out a roaring laugh and the entire room chortled. Al scratched the back of his head sheepishly, looking around at everyone. It wasn't often we all gathered in the common room-all ages, boys and girls-to laugh at someone.

"Alright, alright, wha's goin' on in here?" Hagrid's voice broadcasted out over all of our laughter as he squeezed in through the portrait hole. "I haven' ever seen all yeh in one place at one time like this-" He spotted Al's electric pink broom and let out a booming laugh. "I'm not goin'ta ask, but break it up a little, eh?" he said, waving his hands around. "That way if anyone looks in through a window they don' think yeh're havin' a party or somethin'. Then I'd be forced to send yeh to bed." He waved at Al and then me, and turned around and headed back out of the portrait hole.

It seemed that Hagrid's departure signaled the end of the excitement. The slide gradually transformed back into steps which continued to to morph into the staircase that was so familiar and the crowd suddenly dispersed until it was only Al, Molly, Scorpius and I standing by the stairwell.

"What did you need to tell us so badly?" I asked Al, who shrugged and shot me a furtive look that said "I'll tell you later."

"Oh," I said, dropping the subject, standing there awkwardly. I tried to think of something to say.

"So Hogsmeade this weekend," Molly announced loudly, her face blank. "Are you guys going?"

"Yeah," we all said simultaneously. I tried very hard not to look up at Scorpius who was still standing close to me.

"Should we meet somewhere?" She asked, snapping out of her trance and looking expectantly at Al, who had been frowning down at her. He started violently and then shrugged, trying to pretend like nothing had happened. I felt a seed of dread plant itself in the bottom of my stomach, not understanding the look he'd been giving her, but surmising something rather unpleasant-but I shook it off as best I could and said, "How about Honeydukes? I know Molly needs to restock on Sugar Quills and I know Dad wanted me to buy him some fudge-"

"Yeah, that's a good idea, I'm still missing some Chocolate Frog cards," Al said excitedly, and Scorpius said in the same tone, "I've been meaning to order more Chocoballs!"

"Okay, then, bye, c'mon Rosie!" Molly said quickly, grabbing my elbows and frogmarching me back up the stairs.

"What was that all about?" I asked, rolling my eyes as I tripped over a step and toppled into the dormitory.

"Al was making me nervous," Molly whispered in my ear, having landed on top of me as I fell into the room. I could hear a smile in her voice but I believed her concern to be genuine.

"Why?" I asked, feeling that dread again.

"I was wondering if he was thinking about scratching his armpit again, and let's face it-no one wants to be around when that happens."

"He did have a sort of frustrated look on his face, like he was trying so hard not to scratch it when really that was all he wanted, but he also didn't want anyone to really see him because he was in the crowded common room so obviously someone was going to see him-"

"ROSIE! Look, stop. Plus, I doubt Al ever thinks that much at one time."

"Besides when he's thinking, 'I'm hungry, what should I have to eat, where can I get some food, should I go down to the kitchen and ask the house elves to make me something or should I summon something here from Rose's dormitory or should I send them an owl and ask them to go down to the kitchens for me and bring it back up to the common room or should I ask one of the guys if they have anything but would they really want to share it with me-"

"Yeah," Molly sighed, cutting me off before I got to mention one of my cleverer ideas, "Yeah, besides those times." She lifted herself up and padded over to her bed.

The rest of the week passed in a sort of haze as everyone began to get gradually more excited about the Hogsmeade trip to come that weekend. My classes flew by, since the teachers all seemed to have signed a pact that made it nearly impossible to assign us much work. We spent more free time than usual in the common room, not having much homework, roasting the usual things on the fireplace; sometimes Al and Scorpius joined us, joking and laughing loudly (the loud was mostly Albus). He still wouldn't tell us why he'd tried to get up the girls' staircase. Every time Molly or I found him alone we'd corner him and interrogate him, until we decided to give up after nearly thirty tries.

It continued to snow. Since the skies had gotten a considerable head start this year, there was a completely uninterrupted blanket of white that coated the grounds and the roofs of various towers. On Thursday night, when we went out to track the planets at midnight on top of the astronomy tower, new snow was falling, and the lesson had to be cancelled. I was disappointed, but nearly everyone else hated that class, so there was much rejoicing all around, and Hagrid even let us stay up as long as the lesson would have lasted in the common room, where we all took to our regular clumps and drank butterbeer (the common room's supply closet had a perpetual stock due to the weekly raids of Hogsmeade by various students-namely Molly and I, but I couldn't really afford that credit seeing as how I was supposed to be setting a good example).

Friday dawned bright and early and the day passed by slowly until lunch. I believe that my life revolves around mealtimes.

It was the end of Ancient Runes. I was falling asleep on top of my copy of iA Midsummer Night's Dream/i when I felt a poke on my cheek.

"Whuuu…" I groaned, slurping up some drool. I lifted my head off of the desk, my hair falling in my eyes. I swiped the bothersome curls out of the way violently.

"Why are you translating that play? It was written in English?" It was Albus, ever the intellectual.

"She's translating it to Ancient Runes," Scorpius piped up for me. I nodded, sleepy.

"Why?"

"Because," I said, annoyed, rolling my eyes, "People in the Wizarding world have a pathetic and shameful knowledge of the world's literature. I figure, if it's in ancient runes, at least maybe some kids will pick it to translate back, or to read for homework…"

"I think it's a good idea," Scorpius and Molly said simultaneously. They grinned and pretended to punch each other. I rolled my eyes again.

"No one will ever do that," Albus said, scrunching his nose up on his face.

"No one like iyou/i will, but I still have hope for the other ten percent of the population."

The bell rang sonorously as it always did, and we scrambled out of our seats, shoving our things in our bags.

"I'm starving," I said ravenously, sounding like I'd been locked in a closet for a year.

"You're always starving," Molly remarked. I shrugged.

We made our way down to the Great Hall, walking in a close-knit pack. Scorpius had his hand on my shoulder, half-guiding me and half-making-sure-I-didn't-get-swept-away. I felt self-conscious for thinking so much about it, a strong, warm reminder of his presence in my life-it was one of those moments where I was pretty sure that some form of my thoughts was being projected into the air above my head for everyone else to see, and I was pretty sure that everyone was immensely interested in what I thought of Scorpius and how unusual I felt around him and how confused I was as to how quickly our relationship had ascended from nothing to-well, something, and maybe a lot of it.

While I let Scorpius guide me, as well as the thousands of other bodies pouring through the corridors, I let my mind wander. I hadn't said anything to him about being "his girl" since that day, and he hadn't mentioned anything either-explicitly. He winked more often than he didn't. He smiled continually. He was always there in the common room when I needed to get a break from the girls. He waited patiently if I was annoyed until I was ready to talk. He didn't pester me, he waited. He smiled if I looked up at him, he stared back if I held his glance. I didn't understand him, I just knew that he was unlike any other boy I'd known-different than whom I had imagined him to be, but I guess, when I had been only imagining him, I wasn't who I really was, either. In fantasies things move much faster and without much question-with smiles and demure glances, with arch conversation and holding hands. Fantasies are often wordless and are simply the sincere peace that comes with being together and having a certain understanding. What the problem had been with my fantasies is that they began in my head somewhere that would have to be near the middle of our relationship, I mean, if there would be an end. What I mean to say is that, I never imagined the way in which we got together. We just-were. It was comfortable, it was right, and at the core of it all, we were friends.

"Rose?"

"Hm?" I said, snapping my head around. Molly was looking at me interestedly, and with one glance at my face I knew she could tell I had been in "dream land."

She shrugged. "Nothin."

"Well," I said, nodding, "Thanks for letting me know."

"Sure thing."

After the ages it took to reach the Great Hall ("seven minutes-definitely shorter than we have to walk from Gryffindor tower-"), we all separated into our house groups and filed into place at our tables. Yes, life was pretty normal today.

Food appeared in heaping quantities as usual, and I piled, as usual, as much as I could onto my plate and began to eat daintily. The ruckus ensued for nearly a half of an hour before a small iping! ping! ping!/i could barely be heard over the muted roar of the hundreds of conversations in the hall.

I turned to look up at the Head table, leaning around Molly. I saw Professor Flitwick standing up on his chair behind the table and tapping his goblet. I tapped Molly's shoulder and gestured to him when she looked up cluelessly with a dab of potato on her lip. She looked at me, her wide eyes confused, and then wiped her mouth hastily on her napkin as she followed my finger's path with her eyes up to where Flitwick stood, now looking slightly uncouth, flailing his arms wildly and bellowing in his small voice. The hall began to quiet gradually, but fell to complete silence as soon as Hagrid stood up and let forth a wordless roar. It almost seemed as though the hall shook. Outside, the snow even stopped falling.

"Ahem-thank you, Professor Hagrid," Flitwick said dignifiedly, smoothing down his wiry white hair against his head. "If you all would kindly turn your attention to the front of the room, there is an announcement that I would like to make." He looked excitedly around at the other professors, rubbing his hands together with relish. I looked around at the other professors, too, and noticed with ample surprise that they looked equally as excited. My stomach unclenched as I realised that that meant he couldn't possibly be about to announce that the choir had learned a new song and was eager to perform it for us.

"As many of you doubtless remember, around Christmas time in the year of 2018, a special occasion was held for students fourth-year and above. I address, of course, those currently fifth year and above-" His voice rose in degrees equal to the amount of noise that ascended in the hall. Hagrid stood up and looked at us threateningly-we quieted down immediately. "The event and grand occasion of which I speak is, of course-"

"The Yule Ball!" I heard Hugo cry, and I smacked my forehead into my palm instinctively.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, yes!" Professor Flitwick cried merrily, his face positively beaming with delight, clapping his hands together. "But, wait-how did you know that?" His head tilted to the side, and immense confusion overcame his expression.

"Rosie told us all about it when she came home in her second year, she cried because she wasn't allowed to go-"

"That's ienough/i, Hugo," I threatened, standing up and glaring at him. He smiled apologetically and I sat back down quickly, hoping no one was really watching me.

"Well, anyways, children, it was the Yule Ball! And I have always loved music, I have a great passion for it-"

"We know, Headmaster Flitwick," the entire student body chimed as a whole. He said this every time he was about to introduce the choir, almost as an excuse, I had always thought.

"-Anyways, yes, yes, well after quite some deliberation with the other professors-"

"One meetin'!" Hagrid mumbled loudly. We all laughed.

"What I mean to say is, after discussing the topic with the other staff members, we've decided to host another Yule Ball this year!" He threw his hands up in the air. It seemed to take a minute to sink in, and then many of us did the same, getting up and hugging everyone with in reach, screaming excitedly.

Flitwick allowed us several minutes to celebrate before clearing his throat again. This didn't work so he took out his wand, aimed it at his throat and must've said, "Sonorous," because soon his throat-clearing action could clearly be heard on some sort of magical loud speaker. It was almost creepy, like a giant breathing down on us from above only, it wasn't breathing…We instantly quieted, and I saw more than a few people looking up with expressions of mingled horror and confusion at the ceiling (as if the noise was coming from ithere/i-hah!).

"Yes, yes, children, very exciting and all, but might I remind you students younger than fourth year that you'll have to wait a little while longer to have your fun! But don't worry too much, kiddies, if nothing goes horribly, horribly wrong-" his eyes flickered over to Molly and I. We looked at each other and shrugged. "-Then this will become a lasting tradition at Hogwarts, and you'll get your own!"

"But, hey, wait a minute, Headmaster!" Addae Jordan was standing up on his bench, propelling his voice forward with unnecessary volume. Flitwick kindly (too kindly, I thought) acknowledged him with a flick of his wand and a nod. "What about all us who've only got two Christmases left at this place? We won't get to enjoy all the dances as the little tykes."

"Don't fret, Mr. Jordan," Flitwick said, the picture of kindness, while Molly and I mimed shooting spells at Addae with our fingers. "We've organised a couple of other events particularly for sixth- and seventh-year students that should quell your distress, but we will tell you about them in due time. I will not be extorted for answers."

"That's the way, Flitwick," I said encouragingly under my breath, making a fist and shaking it a little subconsciously. Molly's eyes flickered from my face to my fist and lingered there, probably questioning my sanity.

"So, children, you may commence now with-dessert!"

I looked sadly at my plate as the remains vanished, but my sadness was soon replaced with comfort and joy as I looked at the dessert platters-they were different than usual, more decadent, and in volume far surpassed the regular selection. For some reason there were always peppermint humbugs, but this time there were also sherbet lemons, rhubarb and custard chews, flying saucers, cola cubes, white and brown gems, fruit salad chews, black jacks, foam mushrooms, white chocolate fish and chips, white mice, ice cups, pint pots, and sweet tobacco. I couldn't hardly understand why they were celebrating the occasion of the announcement of the Yule ball with muggle candy, but everything was instantly a hit. There was, amazingly, additionally all of the regular sweets and puddings that usually showed up after the dinner courses (if you stayed long enough!), such as blocks of ice cream, honeydukes fudge and chocolate and other weird sweets, cupcakes, brownies, everything. It was almost overwhelming.

"Wha'z all disuff?" Albus asked with his mouth full. I successfully refrained from rolling my eyes and answered him.

"How do you know all about Muggle sweets, Rose?" Scorpius asked me, looking at a white mouse suspiciously.

"My mum is a Muggle-born and I've spent a lot of time with Gran and Grandad Granger. They always took me to this old-fashioned sweet shop when I was younger, so I recognise everything from experience." I chewed on an ice cup thoughtfully. "I really like the Muggle lifestyle-everything so fast-paced and technological-but I'm really glad I'm a witch. Even though the magical world moves more slowly, I like the tradition and intention of it all. I think we're closer as a community, too."

"Cusdereson-ee-sumhund-bread-uvus," Al mumbled, piling more sweet tobacco on his plate. I took this to mean, "cause there's only some hundred of us."

"Yeah, dummy," Molly murmured under her breath, poking a black jack with her wand. Nothing happened. "The magical population of Britain is approximately one thousand in the year 2022," she announced to the rest of us, shooting a smug smile at Albus, who didn't notice because he was shoveling cola cubes into his mouth.

"There's only that many?" Scorpius asked through a mouth of fudge. At least he had the grace to look slightly sheepish afterwards. My eyes flicked to Albus, who had seemingly glued his teeth together with the cola cubes; but apparently this wasn't regarded as a major deterrent, as he simply tried to force his teeth apart with his spoon full of ice cream. It flopped off the spoon and dribbled down his chin, landing with a splat on his leg. He looked down, with the spoon clenched in his fist, and back up shiftily, apparently hoping no one had noticed. His eyes shifted between Molly and I, both of whom had witnessed the whole debacle. He looked to his right sharply, where Scorpius was, also staring stonily at Al's face, which was a mixture of a slight blush and ice cream tracks where he had unsuccessfully aimed for his mouth and missed.

"What were we saying?" Molly asked, starting and sitting up straight, looking to Scorpius and I.

"I dunno."

"I don't remember."

"Oh, great!" Al said, wrenching apart his jaw at last in a tiny show of regret for his actions, throwing up his hands and all.

Just kidding.

He was just mad that he had thought himself to have been rather subtle and sly about the whole ordeal, and then not only had we witnessed the whole thing, but it had distracted us from our topic of conversation.

"You guys just have to make a big deal out of this, don't you! Give a guy a break." Al made a pouty face, but its efficacy was slightly impeded by the fact that he did have ice cream all over it.

"Um-iex-key-uuuuse/i me, Mr. Universe, but the world really doesn't revolve around you, much less our worlds. We really did forget-all the world's scheming isn't out to make you miserable." Molly rolled her eyes and head along with them, popping some rhubarb and custard chews into her mouth. She made a face at Al when he stared at her, pretending to be upset.

Scorpius caught my eye and we tried to refrain from grinning but failed.

I decided that life wasn't exactly normal today after all.

"Guess what?" Molly demanded brashly as she came stomping into the dormitory a quarter of an hour later than I had. I was already in bed, stuffed, poised on my stomach and ready to fall asleep with my palms flat on my bed under my pillow. I groaned.

"Whu…" I tried lamely, attempting to lift up my head and blow the hair out of my face, smacking my lips. I immediately set my head back down.

"Trevor's already asked me to go to the ball!"

"He did? I thought Al would ask you."

"I would have been forced to say no. Besides, Trevor and I like each other."

"I know-but didn't you smell Al's shampoo in the Amortentia?"

"It's really Trevor's shampoo, Al just borrowed it once and I happened to be closer than I would have liked to his head."

"O-oh." I refrained from asking her how she knew that. "Well he'll be a fun date!" I said, trying to muster some appearance of enthusiasm.

"Yeah, I know."

"Yeah."

"Scorpius was rather quiet this evening," Molly mused, sitting down on my bed with her pillow folded in her arms. She glanced at me furtively.

"Yeah, I know, I was worried that he was worrying about how he was going to ask me to the ball."

"Rosie! I'm so proud of you! It's the first time you've ever said anything definite about you two without cringing or questioning it! This marks progress, this marks-"

"Don't get too excited, Molly Pratt. He said to me that I'm his girl. His girl! That's clear enough, isn't it? Would he ask another girl to the ball after saying ithat?/i" I arched an eyebrow, enjoying making my point. I realised with a trace of horror, iGosh, I'm like Mum./i

Molly fought my haughtiness for a moment, trying to appear as though she was going to have a brilliant comeback, but then slumped down and admitted, "No, I suppose not." She frowned for another moment, and then perked up, suddenly beaming.

"When do you think he'll ask you?"

"I think he probably will tomorrow. He's considerate enough to know that I'd probably like to do my shopping then, and he'd want to let me know I even had a date, wouldn't he?"

"Yeah, Scorpius is a nice guy. I told Trevor to tell Albus that he already asked me. I figure Al can go with Aednat-"

"-Are you joking, she'll eat him alive-"

"-Jamila's nice-"

"-You know as well as I do that Jamila isn't attracted to dopes-"

"-Al doesn't seem like a dope to many people, he's just one around us-"

"-Hey-you know what I've just thought of? Where was Scorpius at mealtimes all these years? And weekends? Al always seemed to be with us."

"Scorpius stayed a little farther away from Al when he was around you to give you space. He wasn't sure how you felt about him. He couldn't recognise the difference between the red of your blush and the red of your angry face for the longest time-"

"iHOW DO YOU KNOW ALL OF THIS?/i" I bellowed, sitting up and aiming a punch at the side of her head. She ducked as I toppled out of bed.

"Al told me when I came to visit you guys in the hospital wing after Charms that one day. You had been out cold since after Scorpius talked to you, and Scorpius told this to Albus, who told me when I came." She nodded with her eyes closed, making a weird face with her lips. "Yeah, that's what happened."

"Oh-I didn't know I was asleep for so long." I frowned, climbing back into bed, but accepted her answer as true.

"Al said Scorpius could hardly stop smiling at your face," Molly whispered evilly and pretended to dry heave.

iClassy./i

"Al can hardly ever stop looking at iyour/i face," I returned, laying my head back down on my pillow quickly in hopes that she wouldn't attack.

"Oh, go to sleep," Molly said loudly, frowning deeply, her freckles becoming distinct, walloping me on the head with her pillow.

"What is it with you and pillows?" I mumbled, falling asleep. "What is it you all have against me?" Back to normal.

I snuggled into my own, friendly pillow, and heard the first, hearty snore escape my lips before my eyes snapped closed and I fell asleep.

hr /

* I have researched Arithmancy independently from the books, you can find the information I used to write these analyses on various websites.

(a/n: thanks soooooo much for sticking with the story so far! i hope that it's living up to expectations and that it's not moving too slowly! More action to come soon :) )


	7. Chapter 7

i"I'm racking my brain for a new, improved way

to let you know you're more to me than what I know how to say

I hope you're okay with the way this is going to be

'Cause this is going to be the best thing we've ever seen…"/i

-Relient K, "Must've Done Something Right"

hr /

I was shaken awake violently on Saturday morning and recognised it as Molly's work immediately.

"Let me ask you something," I said, grumpy. "How do iyou/i wake up every morning?"

"I have the birds tap on my window," she said conspiratorially, and I let out a loud and unintelligent sounding chortle before I considered the possibility that she was being serious. I looked at her out of the side of my eye-she was sitting on the edge of my bed by now-and sighed.

"Oh."

"Yeah. It's nice, they're rather gentle and sometimes they serenade me."

"Nice. Why can't you serenade me to wake me up for a change?"

"Oh, I do though. That's what you hear on the mornings I bellow-I've never been one to be able to carry a tune-"

"Well, that's true enough, isn't it? Remember that one time when we were like, five and you tried to sing me 'happy birthday' and baby Hugo burst out in tears?"

"iTHAT/i was because James stole his rattle," Molly said, wagging her finger violently, too close to my face. I shrunk back into my pillow, laughing.

"Don't be ridiculous," I said between giggles, "A wizard baby doesn't need a rattle to be happy-he just needs a good singer-"

The wallop arrived, on the front of my head this time. My other remarks were casually stifled by this freckle-faced spectre that haunted my mornings.

"But anyways enough insults," she said excitedly, without releasing my face from the pillow. I flailed helplessly. "Get up, get up, I've picked out an outfit for you!"

"Oh, good, tell me all about it," I said as she released me from the confines of the pillow's suffocation, and laid back down on my back, closing my eyes.

"Okay, well, since it's cold outside, I picked out a lace long-sleeve for you, and your dark blue jeans that go up to your waist, and your maroon peacoat, and your white fluffy scarf and mittens and-"

"Take a breath," I groaned, flopping over to look at the clothes Molly had picked out of my wardrobe.

"But I'm not done yet! And your lace-up field boots."

"Well thanks, Miss Fashion. I'm sure everyone will be impressed."

"They will! I know it."

I rolled out of bed and toppled onto the floor, which was cold and stung my legs. I leapt up quickly and galloped to the bathroom, where I turned on the shower and let the steam fill up the room. Molly waltzed in with her towel wrapped around her body and another one in her hair as I stood in my flannel pyjamas, shivering, besides her.

"What are you, cold-blooded or something?" Molly asked me through toothpaste as she regarded my shivering reflection in the fogging-up mirror.

"Maybe it's snowing outside and I'm the one reacting normally."

"It is snowing! That'll be so romantic with you and Scorpius-"

I felt my stomach flop violently. I had forgotten that Scorpius and I were headed in together.

"He can brush it off of your shoulders right before he asks you to the ball…" Molly continued to garble sweetly in this way as I stepped into the steaming shower.

I let it beat down on my hard muscles, especially the ones around my shoulders and neck, trying to regulate my breathing and trying to relax the best I could. Scorpius made me nervous. We were friends, but I was sure we both knew that we felt something else-something more-an attraction that made being friends more interesting than it was for other people to be friends.

I was sure of what I saw in his eyes-but I didn't like to name it for some stupid reason. Maybe it was because I wasn't sure how I felt yet. I knew I was attracted to him (all girls were to a certain extent), I knew it was in a different way than before (it wasn't just because of how handsome he was), I knew I admired his confidence and yet his gentleness, his intelligence, quick wit, loyalty, and what seemed to be overall goodness.

My mind strayed to wondering at myself. How could I forget so easily that Scorpius and I were going-on a…

iDate?/i

Was I trying to avoid the thought of that? And if I was, iwhy would I avoid it?/i

I knew the answer and tried to stop it from rising to the top of my thoughts (but screwing up your face and stomping your foot isn't the most fool-proof strategy), but I heard myself say it anyways: you're not sure why you like him.

"But surely that's normal?" I mused, frowning.

"Yeah, Rose, normal…" Molly's voice replied, and I realised I had spoken out loud.

"Do you think that it is, though, normal for a girl to like a guy without understanding why and then to torture herself over the fact that she doesn't know why and question her integrity and values and-"

"Take a breath."

"But I'm not done yet! And intentions."

"Okay," Molly said, and I could imagine her face contorting with concentration, about to attempt to tackle my question part for part.

"First, I think it is more than normal-average, even-to like a boy without understanding exactly why. You and Scorpius haven't spent any time alone together, so you haven't really had a chance to understand what he's really like. You know it inside, most likely inside your heart, your head just hasn't had time to catch up-and so you know, but you don't really understand-does that make sense?"

"Yes," I answered, relieved, since her answer actually made a whole lot of sense.

"You might like him because he looks like the young Anton Yelchin with straight blonde hair-"

"Molly-"

"I mean, didn't you ever see 'Charlie Bartlett'-?"

"Molly!" I exclaimed, and then assessed her claim. "Actually, he does sort of look like-only a little-Anton Yelchin. I never thought of that before."

"Sorry, I'll stop fawning over your man. But he's so damn handsome-"

"Hey, can I ask you something?" I interrupted shamelessly. I could practically see her slump over, annoyed.

"What."

"How come you've seen that old Muggle flick but you haven't ever heard of iRomeo and Juliet/i?"

"Look, we can't all be scholars. My family never expected me to pick up their literature after we got the letter, but I still watch old movies with them over holidays."

"Oh," I said, resenting the fact that I had to accept this as a reasonable answer. "Fine."

"Anyways, back to your question. You probably like him because he's a disgustingly good person who's somehow rectified the Malfoy name by being gentle and good-hearted and confident and kind and intelligent and funny. But there are other reasons that you don't know yet. You'll find them out in time. Maybe your mum can help you understand."

"Yeah," I said, snorting a little. "If there's ever a person who fell in love with someone for an inexplicable reason, it'd be her."

"Are you sure you want to go on the date with him today?"

I flinched at her unhesitant use of the term "date" and nodded. I then remembered that she couldn't see me, and so I piped, "yes."

"Why?"

"Well-I do like him-and he seemed to really want to go with me-" I paused.

"What?"

"Sorry, that grammatical misstep is torturing me, can I go back and say that ov-"

"iOh/i shut the bloody hell up and tell me why you want to go into Hogsmeade with Scorpius!"

"Molly, don't swear, it's masculine."

"Sorry, part of my culture."

"Eugh-anyways. Because I like him. And I want to spend time with him…" I trailed off, feeling myself blush. I punched the knob to turn the water off, hoping it would distract Molly from my tone.

i"What?"/i

"Alone-" I whispered.

"Mouthing a word doesn't count as whispering."

"Alone."

"There's nothing wrong with that, Rose," Molly said. The air was thick with the rolling of her eyes.

"It sounds as if I'm an evil villain waiting to stalk him in the shadows or something…"

"But you're not-right?"

"Hah, hah." I shivered as I wrapped myself in a towel and gathered my hair on top of my head. I walked out in front of the mirror and stood next to Molly, who was drying her hair. I looked like a porcelain doll next to her darker, freckled skin. My red hair was dark with water and my eyes were wide open-I privately thought I looked a little pathetic and scared. But I had never been on a date before, and especially not with a guy like Scorpius.

I couldn't get the image of Charlie Bartlett out of my head. But I guess in a way, he was sort of like him. Nice, genuine, with a slightly-wimpy father. He had the same half-smile, the same sensitivity, the same seems-like-an-adult persona. But they're both just really kids searching for themselves. Like us all, right?

In a fluid motion I leapt up and began to run out of the bathroom to get my wand. I was having a mild panic attack-another trait I had gotten from Mum. According to Dad and Uncle Harry, she'd been known to suffer them before exams and during bogart encounters. And now I'm suffering them, too, inconvenient situations when I really should be acting suave and cool and smooth. I should be acting impressive. I should be acting like I need to impress one of the handsomest boys at the school-in my humble opinion, the handsomest-make him think I was super cool…

I took a running leap onto my bed, and toppled off the other side.

Real ismooth./i Real impressive.

I found my wand under the bed, and then crawled back to the bathroom in my robe. I stood back up, trying to look composed, and began to dry my hair.

"Rose-I can tell you're thinking about something," Molly said, and then guffawed, "I mean, that's a pretty safe bet to make-but your face. You have this sort of-thinking face."

"Thinking face?"

"Yeah, your eyes squint a little."

"Well I could be wincing from all of the pain I'm in," I returned, glaring.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Molly demanded, shamelessly not attempting to hide the fact that she wasn't even a shred concerned about my pain-which was, admittedly, not very bad-threatening me with a balled fist.

Always classy!

"Well," I said, stalling by curling a chunk of hair around my wand. I could tell Molly was about to bat it out of my hand, so I moved away from her quickly and answered. "Well, I was just thinking how very untimely it is for me to be having a panic attack right now."

"Oh, but it's very timely," Molly said, nodding sagely. "Here, don't worry, I'll fix you up." She proceeded to wrest my wand from my grip and finish drying my hair.

"What kind of makeup do you have?" she asked me, humming softly. I felt my stomach tighten, knowing my answer wouldn't be acceptable to her.

"Well, it's not that I don't ilike/i makeup, it's just that it's so bothersome to put on, and, I mean, where am I supposed to keep it? And, you-"

"Rose. Tell me."

I sighed, wincing. "Well, I have some tinted moisturizer and concealer…" I trailed off, squinting up at her reflection nervously.

I felt her fingers flex in shock around the back of my head, before they loosened gradually and then she let up with a giant sigh. "Oh, Rose," she said glumly, shaking her head. She immediately perked up again. "We'll just use mine!"

"Okay," I said apprehensively. "But you have a different colour palate than I do, so how exactly is that going to-"

"Hell-io/i," Molly said, holding out her hand to stop me talking and rolling her eyes as if my sensible question were the most ridiculous thing she'd ever been about to hear. "We live in a magical world. Plus I have a plan."

Molly set out all of her things. The ones I could name were: foundation, powder, rouge, kohl, mascara, concealer, and lipstick. There were several other bottles and jugs, some filled with bright pigments ("I can't wear bright things," I pointed out loudly, pointing at these particular tubes, and Molly batted my hand down, muttering under her breath) and others filled with certain liquids and powders. I looked at it all uncertainly, but certainly overwhelmed. I felt myself slump over on the wicker hamper I'd been forced to sit on.

Molly pulled out her wand and whipped it around dramatically. I felt my face crack into a small smile, and I realised with a sigh of relief that I was finally relaxing. I was sure Molly noticed but was grateful that she didn't say anything.

She began to tap her wand on each item in line, pronouncing "geminio!" each time. An exact replica appeared beside each one-that I expected, but what I didn't expect to see was that the colouration was different-it was shaded for me.

"How did you do that?" I whispered in amazement. "Can you even say one spell out loud and another in your head and get the correct results from both? It's something I tried before but I singed all the fur off of Aunt Ginny's pygmy puff babies when I was trying to enlarge them and colour-change them at the same time, and let me just tell you now that pygmy puffs are not so cute when they have no fur-"

"Shh. Yes, it's possible. I've had a lot of practicing in Muggle Studies, since sometimes you have to be very sneaky when dealing with them in emergency situations. Obliviate isn't always the practical answer."

"Hm," I said, thoughtful, and still amazed. "Maybe I'm missing out on more than I thought by not taking that class."

"There's no room in your schedule," Molly reminded me for the hundredth time, rolling her eyes and unscrewing the cap of a glass pot of lotion. She picked up her wand and spun me around to face her, and proceeded to apply the myriad products she had to my face. I looked up at hers, absorbing her own flawless skin and makeup to reassure myself that I wouldn't look too made up. The beauty of Molly's makeup artistry is that although she utilised almost every product known to Muggle- and Wizard-kind, she focused on highlighting natural assets. I had large eyes and semi-prominent cheekbones, as well as very clear, pale skin. Whenever she did my makeup, she focused on my natural features instead of trying to contour my nose to look a tad bit wider or my face a tad longer.

So I allowed it.

Because of the fact that when Molly does my makeup she does it right, it took her nearly half an hour (and that was working at top, magical speed) to finish with me. She then stepped back, smiled in a satisfied way, and spun me back around.

I wasn't exactly stunned, I just wasn't used to seeing myself with makeup on. My skin tone was even, my eyes seemed to pop even more than usual, and the light golds and pinks that she'd used in my eyeshadow seemed to cause them to shine and glow. I wasn't used to, either, seeing my eyelashes defined. I realised that they were quite long. Maybe that was something I would invest in, mascara.

"I look like a doll."

"You look like a beautiful doll. No, what am I saying, you look completely human." Molly regarded me happily in the mirror. "Ah, poor Scorpius."

I winced. "Er-yeah. You're sure it's not too much?" I asked worriedly, looking again at the blush that hugged my cheekbones and the way that the darkish rose lipstick defined the curves of my mouth. "I mean, do I still look like…me?"

"You do. Definitely. With expressions like you make, no amount of makeup that I could apply to your face would really change the way you look. Scorpius will probably just be surprised but very happy that he's spending the day with one of the best-looking, smartest, funniest, most thoughtful girls in all of Hogwarts."

"Thanks, Molly." I smiled at her, putting my hand on hers that was resting on my shoulder. My face suddenly frowned. "I'm nervous."

"Let's get you dressed, then, you'll feel better." Molly dragged me out of the bathroom, down the three steps into the dormitory and sat me down on my bed, which was closest. She then whipped out all of the clothing that she'd set down on my bed and began to hand articles to me, demanding that I put them on. I did, feeling again as though I needed all the help I could get.

iI haven't ever seen Scorpius in Muggle clothes/i, I thought suddenly, the idea striking me. Then I sighed. iI bet he's beautiful/i.

When I finally got up to look in the mirror, I realised how different I really did look. I couldn't deny it anymore. In the oversized, lacy shirt with jeans on and my knee-high boots, I looked like a real Muggle, and not just a witch who threw together an outfit in Muggle clothes. That put me ahead of half of the school's population already. I hardly ever wore my hair this way-I couldn't tell exactly why it was different besides the fact that the curls were defined and weren't weighted down. My features were all clearly defined. I wasn't a shapeless black robe-body today, oh no. I couldn't decide if that were a good thing or not. I squinted at my reflection, tilting my head to the side.

I heard a wolf-whistle and looked over my shoulder to see Aednat and Jamila smiling mischievously at me. I offered a small smile, rolling my eyes. "Ooooh, wow, Rose! You have a body!" Jamila cackled. She then looked serious. "But in all seriousness, you look really pretty."

"Thanks, Mila," I said, patting down crinkles in my jeans. "Do you think I should tuck the shirt in?"

"Nah, I think it looks good untucked and hanging-it offers nice contrast to the tight-fitting jeans."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Aednat piped up, pretending to assess my outfit closely. "The boots are also really nice. Are those vintage?"

"Yeah, my mum wore them a few times before passing them down. We both have irregularly small feet so she couldn't sell them."

"Why only a few times?" Molly exclaimed, startled at the news.

"Because she went on an insane shopping spree after the last battle," I said, turning around to look at them all. "She went a little-er-gaga, and the only way she could think of to cleanse herself was to buy a new wardrobe. She bought Muggle clothes and couldn't possibly find time to wear them all, so even after twenty-something years they're all still in good condition." I shrugged as the girls looked at me, dumbstruck. I saw Amelie hanging out of the bathroom doorframe, her toothbrush in her mouth which looked frothy at the sides. I smiled sheepishly, and then whipped back around to fiddle with my belt, which was high up around my navel.

"I know you feel more comfortable in high-rise jeans, I thought they would be good for you today," Molly said, sounding a bit unsure. I reassured her they were fine. They were good. I was just nervous.

"I don't wear makeup," I said aloud, muttering.

"But you look fantastic in it," Jamila and Amelie said at the same time. Aednat nodded. "You do, really," she said.

"Thanks, guys, I need all the reassurance I can get, I guess. I mean, I know Scorpius cares about more than how I look, but I've never been on a date before-"

"Never?"

"Ever?"

"The gorgeous Rose Weasley hasn't ever been out with a boy before? I don't believe it!"

"Well, it's true." I folded my arms across my chest. iMaybe I can/i hold imyself together…/i

"Don't worry, Rose, Scorpius really likes you, not just your face-"

"Or rockin' bod-"

"iDash/i it, Jamila-"

"But honestly! He likes you. You. Rose Weasley, for who you are."

"Wait a minute," I said, throwing out my hands palms forward. "How can you be so sure of that?"

It was an awkward moment as the four girls looked to each other guiltily.

"Well, everyone…sort of…iknows/i," Amelie offered in her soprano voice. "Not that Scorpius broadcasts it or has even said it out loud to anyone, but it's just, the way he's always watched you…"

"What?" I said in a flat sort of voice, my head suddenly light. I plopped down on my bed.

"Well, he used to be more discreet about it, you know, before you attacked him with the Snargaluff that one time-"

"That was NOT my fault!"

"We know, we know…But seriously, you don't see it?" Amelie's green eyes searched my face for insincerity. She shook her head, apparently satisfied that in fact I had had no idea of any way that Scorpius Malfoy looked at me. "Anyways," she continued, "don't worry about the date, Rosie, he's a perfect gentleman and he likes you for who you are."

"But it won't hurt that you look even more lovely than usual," Jamila mumbled with an evil grin and cackle. I smacked at her, but she successfully evaded my reach.

I stood up suddenly, gathering everyone within reach into a hug. "Thanks, guys," I said, smiling serenely. I finally felt like I could take on the challenge of spending almost the entire day alone with Scorpius Malfoy.

"He'll meet you here soon, Rose, and don't forget to meet up with us at Honeydukes as soon as you can!" Molly said, trotting off with Trevor. I waved at her as cheerily as I could with my gloved hand, trying to stay calm.

I waited a few minutes without moving. When I opened my eyes, I saw that it was beginning to snow. I looked up at the white skies, smiling, and spent the next few minutes flicking snowflakes off of my burgundy coat.

I heard a crunch of snow and looked up quickly, my stomach clenching tightly at the sight of Scorpius. He was smiling, having poked his head around a doorway to the excluded courtyard to peek in. I loved that smile-his eyes crinkled up and his nose scrunched a little, his white, even teeth bared in a toothy grin. I felt my face automatically react in a knee-jerk reaction.

He walked over to me, jumping over puddles on the flagstones, his hands in his pockets. His golden hair was dusted with light, powdery snow, and his eyelashes were sprinkled with a few stray flakes. He looked up from the ground to meet my gaze, and my cheeks instantly went warm at the sight of his expression. It was warm, serene, and happy-in fact, he looked as though he could burst with joy. Light seemed to radiate from him.

He crunched through a small pile of snow that was heaped up around the edge of the bench and sat down on it. He left about a half a metre between us.

As I turned my face left to look at him, he turned to look at me. We both looked away, grinning. I could feel myself bite my bottom lip nervously, still smiling.

The bench shook as he scooched closer, bouncing a little. I let out a laugh and met his eyes, which were still crinkled around the outside edges as his face was smiling-a content, close-lipped smile. I could tell that my face was a mirror image of his own.

After a few moments of silly gazing, he tilted his head (and his vision) up to the sky above. He inhaled noisily and surprised me by puffing out a cloud of condensation. I laughed, and he looked back down and me and scooted closer, a mischievous smirk playing up his features. He was about 30 centimetres away. His eyes seemed to glow a sapphire blue as he sucked in the frigid air and blew another cloud at my face. Surprised, I gasped and squeezed closed my eyes, swatting at the insubstantial blast of air. I opened my eyes after a moment of flailing to see Scorpius's face full of laughter and tinged with something else-something deep, warm, and intense that I couldn't quite name.

I couldn't handle the feelings that were seeping up into my chest. I needed to distract myself. I loaded my lungs with air and puffed back, though it looked admittedly feeble compared to his giant gusts. He laughed and scooted closer anyway. We were nearly touching arms.

He caught my eye and we looked at each other for a long moment. His face split into a grin suddenly, mine mirroring it in a reaction, and he whispered, "Hi, Rosie."

"Hi, Scorpius."

Our eyes were locked.

"Um, I was wondering, Rose…" Scorpius began in a low, sort of raspy voice. My stomach flopped violently. He looked away for a moment, and then his blue eyes were again probing my own. I was startled to identify one of the myriad emotions in his voice and his face as shyness. My eyes flickered down to the snow and back to his. He smiled softly and leaned closer to my face, so that his mouth was by my ear. "Do you…will you go to the ball with me?" He pulled back his head quickly to see my face, which was smiling. Too much. iDash it, Rose, you probably look like an idiot./i To quell my quivering heart, I reached out and placed my gloved hand on top of his, which was resting on his knee.

"Yes, I will go with you," I managed to choke out in a whisper, grinning like a fool. Suddenly I was enveloped by two muscular arms, my face pressed into the curve of his neck. I laughed, surprised.

"I'm so glad," Scorpius said, and I could hear laughter in his voice.

I questioned again, for a split second, the speed at which our relationship was developing. But I still had a couple weeks till the ball, didn't I? And I knew Scorpius was respectful enough to give me all the time and space that I needed.

"Me, too," I said, and he put his hands on my shoulders and leaned back so he could see my face.

"Were you worried I wouldn't ask you?" he asked, concerned, a crease between his eyebrows.

"A girl always has to be a little worried, not too cocky," I answered, smiling. "You know, just in case…"

"Rose," Scorpius said squeezing my shoulders and looking very serious. My stomach seemed to fill with hot air and melt my heart. He looked up at the sky and then back down, thrusting his hands back into his pockets and scooting even closer to me, playfully, until out sides were pressed together. I felt, suddenly, very warm. My cheeks were smarting. I couldn't turn to look at him, I was sure, without being to close to his own face. So I stared in front of myself blindly.

"How can I make this as clear as I want to?" He muttered, and then took a deep breath. He reached out slowly to my face. His index finger cupped my chin and pulled my face, very gently, to look at his own. My eyes locked in his, and I felt as if I were utterly and completely surrendering myself to him. It was a fresh, good, new feeling. As he leaned his forehead against mine and let go of my chin, I could feel his physical warmth, as well as the warmth beginning in my cheeks. I could feel my pulse in them, and my lips. I was shivering, nervous. Suddenly the world around us seemed much brighter. Contrary to what I'd read before, everything was becoming clearer. I could nearly count Scorpius's eyelashes, the freckles on his nose, the number of hairs in the peach-fuzz on his cheekbone. The blue in his eyes became suddenly sharp, defined, crystalized. Detailed. A ring of purple lined the iris, and a shot of electric blue ran around the dilating pupils.

I suddenly felt my arms go weak, and seemed to lose feeling in my legs.

Scorpius's slightly-upturned nose touched my own, the lightest of touches. His breath was warm and sweet against my cheek. My eyes closed and I fought to keep from fainting. "I-" he started in a very low voice, hesitating uncertainly. I kept my eyes closed as he bumped my nose again with his own. I could hear myself breathing hard.

"I…like you. Rose." His voice was a whisper. My eyes flew open. He was so close I could hardly see his face, but I could see he was looking down, at our hands which were now intertwined. "I like your smile and your laugh, I like your mind, your tendency to analyse things, the way you roll your eyes-" His eyes flashed up to mine quickly and back down. From what I could see of his face, he seemed to be getting pinker. "I like the raw and innocent way you look at the world. You see it differently, fresh and new. Your appreciation for beauty, your humor. The way you make me feel. Like I'm suddenly unsure of everything that I thought I knew. Who am I, exactly, and what my place is in the world-where my place is in your world. How my stomach leaps when I even hear your name, the way even the thought of you makes me smile, and when I see you, my heart…is warm…" He trailed off, and it seemed to me that his expression, and his voice, was tinged with shyness. Our eyelashes nearly tangled as he glanced at my eyes again. I could feel by the way our foreheads moved together that he was raising his eyebrows, tense. "I admire you," he whispered, "because you are beautiful."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't actually manage to make a sound.

A sudden, warm, rushing feeling began to flood into my body-a shining sort of feeling, a confidence that all is right in the world, that makes you think of butterbeer and hot fires and roasting marshmallows-of happiness and fellowship-it was beauty. Raw and real. I could see it in him, in the physical being in front of me, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy of the real world and not of my thoughts, my dreams, my fantasies. And you know what? I'm so glad that my fantasies didn't deal with the topic of any getting together. I couldn't have ever imagined the magnificence of Scorpius's declaration if I'd have had a thousand days to try in a thousand different ways. I felt as if finally something was falling into place. That one thing that teenagers spend their time looking for? Acceptance, appreciation, compatibility-that all-knowing feeling of safety and security in another person, who is more than you ever could have imagined because he is real and not a simple and decorated figment of your imagination? iYes/i. That was it.

I suddenly sprung to life. I squeezed his hands gently and nudged his nose with mine, this time. I could hear his slight sigh and could almost see his brilliant, beaming smile. "Scorpius," I whispered. "I…don't know what to say." I closed my eyes quickly, feeling a sudden burning sensation in the region behind them. I took a steadying breath, and took a plunge, saying in a raspy whisper all of the ensuing words that came to mind.

"To…to create in me-a loss of words is a quite iridiculously/i magnificent achievement." Scorpius chortled softly. "I have words for ieverything/i. I have words for things that never happened, for everything that has happened, for things that iwill/i never happen, for things I want…to happen. And, guess what, if even all those words aren't enough, I make some up." We shared a giggle. He squeezed my hands. "But…I find that, when I think about you…what happens inside of me is a ifeeling/i." I opened my eyes, which were watering and smarting, to look at him. He was gazing at me with a serene expression, listening intently not only to my words-but to what my words couldn't say. "It isn't words that happens when I think of you…when I see you. When I am wishing to be with you. And that is new for me. I write. I work with words. But you…you're something different. It's a longing, a clench of my stomach, an ache. It's a lightness, a surreality…a dream." Scorpius inhaled quickly, and I looked at his eyes. I saw a smile in them, but also something intense. Something…connecting. Between us.

It felt right.

"And…it hasn't been easy for me to accept the way I feel about you. That I-ilike/i you. Scorpius." I looked into his eyes and saw only there acceptance and encouragement. I felt emboldened. I smiled suddenly, and his lips instantly mirrored mine. "I like your smile and your laugh, your kindness, your gentleness, your earnestness and goodness. The way you look at the world, hopefully. The way you make me question myself, make me want to be better. Your wise and playful eyes, your jovial attitude-and the way that I know I never, ever have to question your integrity." Our gaze locked, his eyes bouncing between mine, my eyes flashing between his. Trying to take in every pure detail of his face at this moment, the joy that somehow radiated from him, that I seemed to effortlessly and so easily absorb. What between us in this moment was comfort and a basic, crucial ability to connect intellectually and emotionally.

Scorpius's eyes lit up and widened. I felt my own broaden in a visceral response, when suddenly Scorpius hands stole around my face on either side, cupping my cheeks very softly, as if he were afraid he were going to break me. We stared at each other, wide-eyed, for a moment, breathing ruggedly.

I didn't have time to think. I didn't want to. Scorpius closed the gap between us smoothly, his soft lips touching gently to my own. It was completely new, wonderous. I felt a small explosion in the pit of my stomach as his lips moved, ever so softly, in a strange and beautiful way against mine. I leaned into his embrace, responding to his touch, moving my mouth against his. I felt his sigh against my cheek and in his body as he completely relaxed, pulling my face even closer, his mouth completely enveloping my own. He was cautious, hesitant, careful. I reached up and held his hands on my face, letting myself surrender to his tender guidance.

I felt him pull away slightly and sighed, my heart nearly bursting. He kissed my bottom lip softly, then rested his forehead on mine. We were both breathing raggedly, smiling. I felt his lips touch my nose, and move to rest firmly on my forehead for a moment, kissing me twice, before he cocooned me in a strong, safe, secure hug. I allowed myself to mold into his contours, letting out a long breath, like the one you sigh when you finally lay down in bed after a long, long day. He rested his cheek on my hair.

It was a long while we sat in comfortable and beautiful and meaningful silence before getting up and heading into Hogsmeade, hands clasped belongingly together.

Scorpius and I walked at a leisurely pace over the slippery path that thousands of feet had tracked into the snow. Hogsmeade at Christmas time has always been especially beautiful. The little cottages and pubs we passed along the way were reminiscent of the scene so often depicted on the front of Christmas cards, dusted (and sometimes stacked high) with snow, replete with fairy lights in flashing colours, with decorated trees and the smells of baking sugar cookies and other spicy puddings.

Scorpius squeezed my hand and I looked up at his face, which was shining with the lights of all of the houses. "You're technicolored," I said, smiling.

"Technicolored. That's…that's…What's that?"

"It's this brand that used to colour old Muggle flicks in the 1900's. It's known for its saturation and sort of hazed hues." His face swam with individual flecks of light in blues, greens, and reds.

"Well-then so are you." He smiled warmly. I felt my cheeks flare up and looked down at the snow, using the excuse in my head that I needed to see where I was going. So as not to trip, of course.

"I like this place," Scorpius announced as we drew closer to the town's centre. "It's quaint and lovely."

iYou're/i lovely, I almost retorted, but bit my lip. My eyes flashed up to Scorpius's face, and he was looking back. I could get used to this attention.

"Hi Rosie! Over here!" Molly shouted genially as Scorpius and I made our way through the crowded candy shop. I waved to her, partially to signal to her that we had seen her and were trying to make our way through the crowd, and partially to ward off potential blights with the sight of my flailing appendage. I frowned a little too, to be more intimidating.

"Well look at you," Molly said in a treacly voice as soon as we reached her destination by the "special" candy. "Trying to be intimidating." I glared at her. "You're not, Rose. Everyone knows you."

"It's true!" some kid in line for the cashier screamed, and I saw a bunch of people nodding in the crowd.

I felt my face express my confusion. "What is this place."

"Well ithis/i," Albus said in a dramatic, show-tune voice, placing one arm around my shoulder and using his wand to mime a microphone with his other, "This is a magical, magic world where things of imagic/i happen. And where magically-" He wagged his fingers impressively, making an "ooh" face, "People know you're the good cop."

"Okay, Mr. Gordon Craig, I get it now." I shrugged Al's arm off of around my shoulders and pushed him away with my free hand. Scorpius still had one snugly fit inside his own.

"You should understand by now that I don't understand your obscure Muggle allusions!" Albus yelled as he was dragged away by a sudden current of students. I just rolled my eyes.

I looked back at Molly, whose eyes seemed to be flicking up from gazing at my hand linked with Scorpius's one. I looked back, nervously, and Molly cleared her throat loudly, kicking Trevor's shin. I guess she had forgotten that she was wearing jeans and her legs could clearly be seen and caught in the act, unlike when we were wearing robes and could get away with that sort of thing. Trevor certainly (as well as the rest of us) got the message and absolutely, positively insisted that Scorpius come look at the size of the new shipment of Chocoballs with him. Scorpius looked down at me and smiled, but I thought I saw the flash of a question-and uncertainty in them. I nodded discreetly, and he gave my hand one last squeeze before going off with Trevor. They were both clearly excited.

I immediately rushed to Molly's side.

"How'd it go with Albus?" I asked her anxiously, wringing my hands. I tore my gloves off distractedly and shoved them in my pockets. "He seemed okay…" I searched for his head above the many others milling about and found it over by the stringmint floss. He caught my eye and waved brightly. I raised a hand back, frowning. "Too okay."

"Trevor said he was a little disappointed to hear that I was going with him-" She looked at me suddenly, her eyes widening. "And you'll never guess! You know how we couldn't get him to tell us why he wanted to get up into the girls' dormitory that one time?"

"Yeah…" I said slowly, nodding, not liking where this was going.

"Well, he was coming to ask me!"

"To the ball?" I hissed, skeptically. "How'd he even know about it? We hadn't heard the announcement yet." I folded my arms, keeping an eye on the back of Al's head. He was swaying back and forth lightly. I looked darkly at Molly out of the side of my eye. Great, you've ruined him. I'll have to bring him home and explain this to Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny. Well, you see, his life seems to have taken a bad turn when he couldn't ask the girl he fancied to the ball, and well…after that…

"I guess Harry wrote to him and told him about it. I don't know how he knew, but he was encouraging Albus to get a move on and then make his date swear to keep it a secret until the rest of the school knew."

"Oh," I said, frowning and pursing my lips. "Hey, wait," I said, looking at her askance, "How d'you know all that? Did Trevor had to extract it from Al drop by juicy drop?"

"Um. Well, sort of. Boys apparently, and I mean, I wouldn't know this if Trevor hadn't told me, it's not like I've gone around investigating or anything, not that I want to even know this, but they have this way of-"

"NO!" I yelled, covering her mouth with my hands. "Don't…tell me. Ever. Never tell me."

Her ochre eyes were laughing as they searched mine, but she nodded earnestly.

"Anyways," she said when I freed her mouth, "We should get going soon, your mum will be expecting us at The Three Broomsticks any minute."

"Oh, okay." I scanned the crowd for that blond head. I still had a hard time believing that he wanted to give it to me. "Let me buy Dad some fudge and we can go."

I picked out a couple of substantial blocks and got in line, which was moving quite rapidly. Scorpius, his arm full of bags, stepped in behind me, standing close. He felt warm.

After we both checked out we stood, a foot apart, facing each other. His eyes seemed to link thoughtlessly and effortlessly to mine, and through them, his essence seemed to walk and talk with my own. He raised his eyebrows after a moment, cradling his packages, and then said softly, "I'll meet you later, okay? I'll send you a Patronus." He smiled widely and began to walk in the direction of the castle.

"Patronus? You can make one?" I asked, slightly shocked.

"Rose Weasley, you aren't the only person in the world who teaches themselves a spell every now and then," he said playfully, beaming over his shoulder.

"Mum!" I exclaimed loudly, dropping my parcel of fudge as I ran to her. I heard it ithud!/i on the floor behind me but didn't care.

"Hi, Rosie!" she said laughing, catching me as I leapt upon her with the agility of a jungle cat and captured her in a hug. "How've you been?" I smiled at her, and looked back over my shoulder at Molly, who had picked up my fudge and was making her way towards us. I wasn't exactly sure how to answer the question. I had explained, as nearly best I could (or, rather, wanted) to Molly the situation with Scorpius on the walk over. She shook her head a little, and I turned back around smiling. "Great! Really great, how've things been at home? Work?" I followed her as she led us to a small booth at the back corner of the store.

"Oh, fine, fine. A little slow at work these days, but nothing new." She sat down across from Molly and I, beaming.

"Mrs. Weasley, you look tan," Molly said, admiringly. "Where have you been, girl? I mean you're practically golden!"

"Oh, Molly, stop," she said, smiling shyly. Then she grinned girlishly, leaning forward as she spoke excitedly. "But actually, with no kids in the house and the slow nature of work, Ron and I have had time to travel on the weekends. We spent the last one in Egypt helping Bill with an excavation." She twisted her lips, seeming to reconsider Molly's statement. "So, I guess I might look a little brown."

"You do."

"Mhm."

"Well, girls, anyways…" She startled me by appearing as though she were about to burst with excitement. But she was cut short by our drinks arriving. "Thank you, thank you," she said, waving the waitress away, seemingly flustered. "Well, you must've heard by now-the ball!" She clasped her hands together excitedly under her chin.

"Yeah, Mum, we're both going, actually," I said, smiling a little and twisting the butterbeer cork in my fingers.

"Oh good! With who?"

"You're really excited about this, aren't you?"

"Go ion/i, Rose!"

"iI'm/i going with Trevor Longbottom," Molly piped up, taking a swig of butterbeer.

Mum's eyes glazed over for a moment-one of those iI'm-remembering-the-past-now-shut-up-and-let-me-reminisce/i looks. Molly and I remained appropriately quiet.

"Every time I hear that name I can't help but thinking of Neville's old pet toad," she mused after a moment, taking a dainty sip herself. "He was always loosing track of it, poor thing."

"Neville named his son after his ipet toad/i?" I asked, thoroughly amused. I couldn't stop the giggles from pouring out, nor the accompanying tears.

"Well, yes, haven't I ever told you that before?" Mum asked, looking at us a little surprised.

"No! Don't you think we'd remember that ieensy weensy/i detail?"

"iI/i definitely don't remember hearing that one before."

"Oh," Mum said, and then burst out laughing. "I guess…haha, I guess that would seem a little funny! Haiha/i! Oh, that is funny!"

We all three shared a good laugh until our ribs were sore and we were gasping for air. People at other tables were looking at us suspiciously, so I held up my benign bottle of butterbeer and shouted, ""There isn't enough alcohol in butterbeer to be traceable in the human bloodstream!" I waved the bottle around, a little of it sloshing out, for emphasis. They all looked away.

I set my bottle down gently and looked sideways at Molly.

"That wasn't rude, was it?" I muttered out of the side of my mouth. I could see Mum shaking from giggles across the table, presumably at my strange antics.

Molly shrugged. "If it was…only a little."

"Anyways, Rose. Who's your date?" Mum asked, her brown eyes still watering with tears of mirth.

"Scorpius Malfoy," I stated matter-of-factly.

"Really! Rose, that doesn't have anything to do with the letter I sent you, it was really only a suggestion, you know-"

"It's okay Mrs. Weasley, Rose and Scorpius were chums before she even opened your letter. They're compatible," Molly added as an afterthought, knowing as she did that Mum still regularly practiced Arithmancy.

"Well I'm glad it's working out," Mum said, shooting a look my way that said iyou will send me a letter with details or else/i. I nodded, sighing. Her face then brightened considerably and she reached into her small handbag, beaming. She rummaged around and loud, booming noises echoed from the purse.

"How is your Mum's arm gone up to the shoulder?" Molly whispered out of the corner of her mouth in my direction.

"This is a magical, magic world where things of imagic/i happen," I whispered, doing jazz hands. She gave me a look that clearly indicated that she would have loved to wallop me over the head, but glanced at Mum and seemed to decide it wasn't the best option. She sank back into the cushy material of the booth and waited to see what Mum would draw out of her bag.

"I brought you girls something, anticipating that you'd both be going," she said, wincing a little as she seemed to be lifting something of considerable size and weight through the small, clasped opening on her purse. She struggled for another moment and then yanked free a large, rectangular parcel of brown paper and string. It looked as though it might have contained a blanket. I prepared myself for some of her knitting.

She separated the parcel into two, and I realised that there had been two, semi-flat packages one on top of the other. She handed one with a large "R" on the front to me, and the other with a large "M" on the front to Molly. "Go on," she said, smiling as Molly and I exchanged mystified and slightly apprehensive looks. "Open them! You don't have to keep them, but I think you'll like them all the same."

With a large inhalation of breath I took a pull on the string and the bow unraveled neatly, picking itself up and wrapping back into a ball. I carefully slipped a finger underneath the tape holding the paper together, and as soon as it snapped apart, the brown paper unfolded and revealed one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

"Wow," I heard Molly say, and my head snapped over to her package. Hers mirrored mine exactly besides the fact that while hers was a shade of sky blue, mine was one of a very pale, light pink.

"Mum, these are beautiful!" I said in awe.

"iAren't/i they wonderful?" Mum asked, clasping her hands again. "Ginny-that is, Aunt Ginny and I wore them to Teddy and Victoire's wedding. Back in the day, these were first-rate dresses. Of course, Muggle designers knew more about that sort of thing…"

"Well I am definitely wearing this to the ball," Molly said, smiling. "It's wonderful!"

"It'll match the streaks in your hair, too," I said slyly. Molly elbowed me in the ribs. "Hey Mum, I don't remember this dress! I was…oh…well, three when you would have worn it." I shrugged. "Never mind."

Molly held her dress up to reveal that the skirt was full and multi-layered in a soft mesh-like fabric. The embroidery was silver, of roses and other flowers and leaves and vines and was intertwined with silver and clear beads and sequins up at the top, which was styled in a sweet-heart neckline. The embroidery continued down past the waist and blended into the skirt in spear-like projections. Across the empire waist was a tapered band of satiny fabric, and in the center of it were three fabric roses of the same, soft material. I was in awe. I kept staring at it.

"I love how the skirt ends in these sort of frills and it's not just cut straight across," Molly said, seeming to be in a level of equal admiration of her dress as I was of mine.

"Yes, they're well-made," Mum said happily, resting her head in the cup of her palm. "I'm glad you girls like them. I hope you don't mind that you're matching?"

"Of course not," Molly and I said at the same time.

"I don't think I'd be satisfied with any other dress."

"True. They'd all seem sort of like a let down after this."

"The fun part," I said, a thought suddenly striking me, "Will be to try to convince Scorpius and Trevor to match, too."

"Yes!" Molly exclaimed, suddenly a tinge of mischief tinging her smile. She caught my glance and I could tell that we were both equally excited.

We spent around another hour chatting with Mum and drinking our butterbeers by the warm fire in our booth at the back of the store. It was nearly half-past noon before I noticed a small, silver creature cantering towards our table out of the corner of my eye.

It was a small animal, silvery. Not quite made of air, and not quite made of gas. Not liquid or solid, the Patronus was a sleek and svelte, short-haired kitten. It hopped up onto the bench next to me, purring, and looking Mum and Molly politely in the eye before turning back to me and opening its mouth.

"Meet me at the Hogshead in half an hour…please," it pronounced in Scorpius's soft, low, and slightly rugged voice. The cat then turned in circles a few times, wrapped its tail around its body and curled next to my leg before suddenly dissolving into a puff of silver air.

"Compatible," Mum said softly, more to herself than to anyone else before taking a sip of butterbeer.

She knew as well as anyone that my Patronus was, likewise, a cat.

hr /

a/n: you guys asked for some scorpius action, so it's just good that i had some in the plans! ;)

thanks again for the reads and reviews! hope to update soon :)


	8. Chapter 8

I am standing on the platform with my parents on my first day at Hogwarts. The train is sitting still at the ready, waiting to swallow us whole. I am nervous, I keep touching my collar, smoothing it down. I'm already in my robes, eager to embark on this new journey. But I feel sick. Uncle Harry makes a jokeI cannot laugh, I cannot smile. My teeth are glued together, as if I swallowed a batch of cement. My eyes scan the crowds and I see a golden, ethereal head, surrounded by a perpetual glow amidst the gloom and the haze of the station. I look up, notice the father, and my heart sinks, knowing a forbidden attraction when I feel one.

I am sitting in a hallway full of a yellow light that reminds me distinctly of the winter of my second year. I expect to seeand there it is, the unbreakable trioAlbus, Trevor, and Scorpius Malfoy round the corner, laughing, running. I snap my head down to my Potions notes although I don't need to read them again, and try to keep my eyes pointed at the pages. But I lift my head at the last moment, locking eyes with Albus who smiles and wavesHi, Rosie!shifting my gaze to Trevor, who waves, stumbles and tripsattempting to stall my eyes in their shift to the face of the forbidden fruit, and failinghe does not smile or offer any insight as to his emotions at all, and I am scared to know what he's really thinkingI look back down to my notes, although all the words are illegible, my vision obscured by a sudden warm wetness around my eyes.

I'm sitting at lunch with Molly and Trevor. We're about to take our third year final exams. I'm more than nervous, I feel sick. Al comes to sit across from us. I look up and greet him tersely, not meaning to be so tense. I dive back down under the table to grab my Divination charts, rifling through my bag. I hear a euphonious voice, a deep and soft one. I recognize it immediately, and bump my head on the edge of the table as I return to the air. I look up, my cheeks burning, and meet his eyesthey are kind and beautiful, and his lips are upturned in a small smile. He sits down without a word, and trying not to stare, I wrench my eyes away from his defined cheekbones and look at the pages in front of me, although they do not pass through the part of my brain that makes sense of things and remain trapped, in a sort of impossible limbo, somewhere between acceptance and understandinglike my feelings for Scorpius Malfoy.

It's dinner, the last night of living at Hogwarts for third year. I've passed all my exams with marks surpassing the perfect score, all except for DivinationI couldn't remember the chartsI won't be taking that anymore. I think I'll pick up Ancient Runes and ArithmancyMum loved these two courses, I think I'll find them better than some mystifying and imprecise branch of guessworkalthough I wish that I were somehow gifted with the Sight, I think as Al and Scorpius enter late, as always to the Great Hall and take a seat at the other end of the table. Al leans in and looks down at me, waves, and Scorpiushis wonderful blue eyes, so bright and sparkling that I can see almost different colors from herelooks down at me, too. I feel a blush creep up my cheeks, and I swear I'll faint from swooningI see his cheeks uplift in an almost-smile before he breaks the line of contact abruptly, looking down at his plate.

I smell hot rain on the paving stones as I make my way towards the barrier between nine and ten, pushing my cart in front of me. One of the wheels is rattling. I'm distantly annoyed by it, but focus on entering the platform. I'm walking quickly towards the barrier when I spot Albus out of the corner of my eye. He's right behind me on my left, and we walk through the barrier together. We exchange hugs and separate as we've made a habit of doing. I say goodbye to Mum and Dad, promising to help Hugo find a compartment. I enter into the train, trusting that Dad won't lose my trunk again, and after guiding Hugo to the compartment he and his friends all share, I head to my own, down in the next carriage. I settle down, bouncing my wand in my hands, excited to be able to use magic again after a whole agonizing summer of strictly theory-based reading. I grip the end in my left fist, and as I'm deciding which spell to use, there's a small knock on the glass of the door. Anticipating Molly, I run to the door and slide it open, finding myself face to face with Scorpius. I stare, wide-eyed, returning his silence and surprise.

Oh, I thoughtDo you know where Al is sitting?

No, II'm not sure, sorry.

It's alright, he replies, beginning to turn. He looks back and offers a small smile. he says softly, and all I can do is raise my hand as he walks away.

I'm sitting in the common room, gazing into the fire. I've seen Scorpius several times today, and I can't think about studying for the quiz tomorrow in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I pull out the blank journal Mum had given me for my birthday earlier this year, my mind brimming with thoughts that I think will explode my head if I don't extract some. If I don't make some physical sense of my seeming-obsession with the boy who would always regard me as nothing more than Albus's other best friend, Al's cousin. Maybe he'd know my name, maybe he wouldn't. I'm sure I'll never know. My mind decided, I pull out my quill and ink and begin to write, splattering my face with ink as I speedily relay my thoughts and dreams and fears. I don't notice when Al enters the room and sits down next to me. I don't notice when Molly takes up her spot in the chair next to my pouf. And I don't notice when a bright blond head walks by us, heading up the spiral staircase towards the boys' dormitories.

Rosie, you're going to detach your hand from your arm, Al says, and I spill my ink pot, startled. He sops it up with the sleeve of his robe before Molly reaches around me and siphons the ink off of the floor and Al's robe with a flourish of her wand, returning it to my inkwell. Al looks up at her apologetically, his cheeks tinged pink.

This time around I recognise the tint for what it suggests and not for what it is obviously.

I tickle the back of his head with the feather tip of the quill. His hand reaches up automatically to brush it away.

It's snowing. I'm sitting at the common room window, in the corner of the large sill, journal in hand. We're inseparable these daysalthough I never bring it with me into the castle, when I'm in Gryffindor tower, I never put it down. It's almost half-way full.

I turn my head quickly for no reason that I can discern until I see the side of that tanned face. In my delusion, I get the feeling that it's just turned away from my direction. He's sitting in a chair, reading what I assume to be a Muggle play, from the look of the cover. I stare at him a moment longer, and then lay out my journal in front of me, smoothing out the next blank page, dipping my quill in ink and lowering my hand to the parchment.

That's the last page, I tell Molly as we're walking from Charms to Potions one day in early March in my fourth year. I can't imagine what my life would be like now if I'd started writing earlier. I seem to depend so heavily upon it now, I say, holding up my journal and flipping through its pages.

It is strange to think about, since whenever I see you with a quill in your hand it's so natural to see. Molly looks at the journal in my hands. Are you going to get another one? It's only taken you about six months to fill this one and it has hundreds of pages.

I'm sure of it, I say, looking up, my eyes pulled by an inevitable and irresistable force. I see Scorpius Malfoy looking in my direction. He's surrounded by girlsover Christmas break he must have grown 30 centimetres at least, and his cheeks have hollowed out just a littlehis hair a little darker blond, wavier near the front, his eyes still that striking, deep blue, his nose still small and sculpted, and his eyelashes still just as receptive to the sunlight as they ever werehe smiles softly in my direction, and before I can return the glance, he turns away.

There is certainly something new about the way you're acting, Scorpius. You're brimming over with confidence, girls hanging off your arms, and you're looking extra-attractive. What's happened?

What do you write about? Molly is asking me as we sit by the common room fireplace. It's nearing spring break, and as usual, I have a journal splayed open across my knees as I sit on my pouf, stretching my legs.

Oh, you know, the odd day in Charms, what silly things Professor Longbottom says, things I think aboutI write the occasional poem, too.

Poetry? Can I hear any? She asks, looking up at me, bright eyed.

I hasten to rifle through the pages.

You're writing in blue ink lately, Molly says, and I feel a ferocious blush eat away at nearly my whole face.

I like the colour blue, I say, clearing my throat and looking for a poem to read her.

I know, she says, When we were little you were always telling me how lovely the sky looked that day. 'Look at the way that it lights up pink at the nighttime,' or, 'look at the clouds today! They look as though they're marshmallows.'

I grin. Whatever I said, I'm sure it was true. I stop, my finger on a page that looks alright and read her the poem. She smiles when it's over.

I understand only bits and pieces. What's that about your other face and your other arms?

Well, an ancient Greek philosopher I don't remember whowrote that humans have been looking for their soul mates ever since Zeus cut them in half. Originally people were said to have had two heads, two hearts, four arms, four legsand all that, but when they tried to think of a way to climb to heaven to replace the gods, Zeus punished them by cutting them in half, so that they'd have to spend their time on earth looking for their other halves, unsatisfied until they found them. I sigh, shivering at the thought.

says a deep male voice from the entryway of the spiral staircase to the boys' dorms. I snap my head up, knowing already that I will see his angular yet soft tan face, his tanzanite eyes and his crystal, golden hair aimed in our direction. I feel a nervous flutter of emotion in my midsection as he meets my eyes, and the feeling remains even as he looks on to Molly. And back to me. Plato wrote that in his iSymposium/i. He smiles mysteriously and then turns with an air of confidence to walk up the stairs to the fourth year dorms.

Molly and I exchange a glance. He's much more handsome than I remember, she whispers, and I nod nervously, hoping that she's simply remarking on an obvious fact and actually doesn't know the extent of my feelings for him. Hoping that she won't put the poem and the face together.

I think he's grown up a bit, I say, then turn my head back down to my poem, reading it again, the words Plato wrote that in his iSymposium/i playing over and over in my head like a sweet, sweet song.

I'm standing on the platform, waiting for a carriage to arrive and take me back to the station. Molly's still retrieving the last of her items from Filch's officethat man is really never going to croak, is he? I think, then laugh a little mischievously. I look around to make sure no one witnessed that moment. Sufficiently satisfied, I lift my eyes to the misty road from where the horseless carriages should be coming. I bite my lip in agitation, looking back to the muddy road.

Hey, Rosie, I hear Al's voice say and I turn around, giving him a hug.

Hi, Al I say, and stop short seeing that blond head over his shoulder. I lock eyes with Scorpius Malfoy before a ganglion of popular kids surrounds him and he hands out goodbyes like precious, shining gifts.

Al is talking to me. I nod at random intervals, fastening my jealous and thirsty eyes to the side of that glorious head, forgetting that I am waiting for any sort of carriage at all.

What codswallop, I say, sighing. I clasp the journal shut with a snap and shove my quill and ink away. I really have no idea who he is. I frown, folding my arms and legs like a child.

I hear a knock on the door. Rosie? It's Mum, can I come in?

I say, pouting. She opens the door and comes in and sits on my bed.

A thought occurs to me that I'm treating him unfairly. I curl up at Mum's side and after a thorough examination of my feelings towards that dratted Malfoy, I sweat to myself that I will never allow myself to love someone I do not know.

It's the first day of sixth year. I'm sitting on the train, a pair of knitting needles clicking away in midair in front of me. I am scrunching my eyes, my nose nearly touching the yarn, paying careful attention to their actions and documenting the patterns. Mum never had much luck with this stuff, I think. It must be Gran Weasley's blood in me. I set down my pencil and with my wand freeze the needles and the mass of yarn in mid-motion, taking a moment to sketch the progression of the stitches.

That's a highly advanced spell, Rosie, Albus says, sticking his head through the doorway.

It is? I ask, closely scrutinizing the scarf, running my fingers over it. I thought I made it up. I frown, considering. Is it even possible to do a spell that you don't know?

Silly question, Molly mutters, rising from a deep sleep. You do that all the time.

I tilt my head to the side, then nod. It's a reasonable claim.

Hey, the gang was wondering if you wanted to join us for a game of Exploding Snap and some butterbeer a few compartments down, Al says, trying to look innocent.

The igang/i? I snort. You have ifriends/i?

Albus rolls his eyes. A habit I've proudly passed on to him, I think.

You do realise you just questioned both our existences? Molly grumbles at me before shooing Al away with a flap of her hand. No, we're fine here.

he asks, and something in his tone makes me look up and meet his eyes. He looks nervous, like there's something riding on my answer.

Al, I mean I was kidding, but really if you don't have anyone to sit with you can join us

Al says, smirking and trying and failing to keep from rolling his eyes. Come on.

I'm busy, I say, gesturing to my knitting. Any dunderhead with a brain half the size of a dried currant could see that, I add, going back to my sketch.

Thanks, Rose, but you know as well as I do that my brain is iat least/i three-quarters of the size of a dried currant, Al says, smiling. I smile back, adding in an expression that makes it clear that I'm staying here. Alright, but the loss is yours, he says, raising his brows. The boys will miss you.

Give Trevor a hug for me, I add as he slides closed the compartment door. He stops, nods, and then opens his mouth. He pauses, frowning, closing it. Then it opens, and continues in this manner, looking like an oversized and over-fleshy fish.

Albus Severus Potter, Molly groans from her corner, poking one eye above her blanket. Spit it out or I'll hex you halfway into next week.

I will, Al says finally. But he looks back with a semi-serious glance in his eye and adds, very quickly, What about Scorpius?

I'm taken aback. Malfoy. That might be weird, as we're not reallythe best of friends. I tilt my head to the side without meaning to, frowning and attempting to abate the blush that's spread over my entire face. It's positively devouring my forehead and cheekbones. I imagine I'd smite the skin of my fingers if I were to press them onto any part of my face.

Albus considers, nods, smiles goofily, and then slides the door closed, crushing his foot in the tracks.

I am staring at the back of Scorpius's head.

It won't ever be less beautiful, I think. Golden blond, some ashy streaks, some white-blond.

iIf I could just get a lock of that hair/i I find myself thinking, my eyes drooping. iThen I could/i

Could what? What could I do? How would that affect the sleeping draught?

hr /

Hey! HeyI think she's waking up!

Thank God

Rose? Rosie?

Can you hear us, Rose?

Do you feel alright?

Her eyelids, they fluttered, I saw themOh, wait, there, they're going again

Is she awake?

I sat up quickly. Too quickly. I hit my forehead on a large metal rod that was hanging low over my face.

Oh, good Lord, what the ihell/i is a bloody metal ibeam/i doing over my head? I said loudly, rubbing my forehead where it had been smashed.

Definitely awake.

I opened my eyes all the way.

What are you all doing here? I asked, my face scrunching up in obvious confusion. Oh, and by the way, real nice of you to stand for that contraption being positioned over my face. I grimaced, my head beginning to pound.

Rosie, did you know you're fluent in Spanish? Al asked me, his green eyes a bit red but sparkling all the same.

You've also memorised our Potions textbook back-to-front, Trevor commented. You recited some recipes we haven't even done in class yet word-for-word.

You can make things zoom around the room in your sleep, Hugo exclaimed excitedly, pointing to what looked like a paper airplane that was zooming around, bouncing off things.

I can? I asked, puzzled.

I felt rather pleased about that.

You also laugh in your sleep, Molly said, wrapping a purple strand of hair around her finger lazily, her brown eyes smiling, Maniacally sometimes. It's a bit alarming. I never noticed that before.

It could have something to do with the concussion, Al proffered, and everyone nodded their heads in agreement, acknowledging the validity of that point.

I said quickly, my head snapping around to Molly. She looked like she was stifling a laugh.

Hey, has anyone told Scorpius that she's woken up?

No, I'll send him a Patronus.

Bloody nine-class course load, Albus muttered, folding his arms.

Wait, someone has to explain this to me, I demanded, frowning, not understanding how explanation of my bloody iconcussion/i was not taking up top priority here.

Well, he didn't drop any classes after third year, and he even took on

Albus, I'll emkill/em you, I interrupted, rolling my eyes. What happened?

You fell and hit your head, Molly stated, like it were that simple.

I said, frowning. Is that it?

Not really, Trevor said. He trailed off, looking slightly apprehensive. You've been out for a while.

A iwhile/i? I repeated, getting nervous. What does that mean, exactly, a iwhile/i?

maybe a week? he said, shrugging. I dunno, does that sound about right? he asked the others, and they nodded, looking at me with mixed expressions of sympathy and apprehension.

A weeka week. I tried to understand what that meant. When was I last conscious?

I asked, doing some quick mental math. wait. Thatthat was the day before the ball I cringed, my head immediately smarting worse than before. I missed the ballI missed it. Oh, no I shook my head, feeling overwhelmed yet slightly relieved that I didn't have to make a fool of myself in front of Scorpius trying to pretend like I knew how to dance. Scorpius.

Oh, no, I said, feeling sick. Poor Scorpius.

Did I hear my name?

I heard the familiar, deep and slightly raspy voice and my stomach reacted in the usual but never unexciting eruption of emotion and what seemed to be butterflies. His hair was looking windswept, his robes open, his tie flipped back over one shoulder and his bag still hanging open, full of sloppily-arranged textbooks, papers leaking out. But what I noticed most were his eyes, wide, kind, and strikingly, untireably blue. They locked on mine as he walked towards the bed, and I realised where I was.

The infirmary.

What really happened? I asked, looking out of one of my eyes at Scorpius who had scraped up a plastic chair and was sitting at my bedside. He met my gaze and I saw a dimple form in his left cheek, like he was trying to hide a smile. I said, laughing at his expression.

He struggled for a moment more, and then allowed himself a bright smile, his upper cheeks and eyes extremely amused. I shook my head at him, raising my brows, and I felt that my mouth was hanging open a little. I snapped it shut.

Er, well He began, and then let out a long peal of laughter, unsurprising in every way. I'd been expecting that laugh. Suddenly I felt thirsty for him, for his companyit seemed like it'd been years since I'd seen his eyes, his thin pink lips that were so often used for smiling, his friendly, wide cheekbones, his frecklesthe wave in his hair. I soaked it in while he laughed, hoping he wouldn't look up and see the hunger in my eyes.

He looked up after a few minutes, drying his eyes. I lowered my eyes to my bedding, twiddling my thumbs, feeling sheepish for the overwhelming desire for his presence.

he said, and I knew instantly that he thought I was looking sheepish for having fallen hard enough to give myself a concussion. I allowed him to live on with that thought. No need to be embarrassed, it's just humorous He smiled brightly and in a knee-jerk-reaction I smiled back. He went on with a wave of his hand. I was with you. I was walking you to the Owlrey, you had to mail something to your Mum, something you were saying about your dress he paused, trying to remember.

It's okay, I don't remember anyways, I don't need to know iall/i the details, I said quickly, trying to hurry him along.

Well, okay. We were about to reach the steps up and there was a puddle, you were talking and I was distracted by it because I wanted to get by it as fast as I could since probably Filch was right around the corner, and he would just blame us if he found us anywhere near it, so I started to walk a little faster and I think you did too, without registering itand I looked back at one point and saw you on the groundI was nervous, but you must've gone down gracefully because there wasn't any blood and I didn't even hear you.

I squinted over at him. No blood, I said, feeling the back of my head and pretending to feel relieved to discover an absence of gaping welts. I let out a sigh. Well, phew.

Rosie, that really iis/i a good thing, Scorpius said, raising his brows and doing a grimace-smile that I'm pretty sure he picked up from Albus. Blood would have seriously complicated matters. Did you know that your mum called in Muggle doctors to figure out exactly what was wrong with you?

Let me think a moment, I said, looking up at the ceiling. Oh, yeah, I didn't know that actually, I was in a coma when she did. Thanks for letting me know!

Scorpius almost rolled his eyesthey flicked up and stopped at the ceiling for a moment while he smiled sidewaysbut they didn't quite make it all the way around. iDarn/i, I thought. iThat would have been one of the few times I've actually seen him do that. Is he different in absolutely every way than regular boys?/i

He looked at me softly.

iYes. And that's why I need him./i

iOh, God!/i

iI said the word!/i

The next day, Scorpius came to see me again. He said they were going to let me out to sleep the night in my dorm.

Oh, wow, another ibed/i, I drawled when he gave me the news. He smiled and shook his head, and I was sure that he was wondering whether or not to point out my sass.

I smiled and reached over to grab his hand which was sitting on his knee. He met my eyes and I smiled, my face softening considerably, a mirror of his own.

Are you okay with me missing the ball? I asked, feeling genuine concern. I knew that if I had been in his position, I wouldn't have thought twicewell, maybe three timesabout the ball if he'd been in a coma. But I wasn't sure how he was feeling.

Rose, of course I am, he said, looking at me seriously. It wouldn't have been fun to go without you, and you needed to doother things, like isleep /iand be in a coma We laughed. Besides, I only was going to go so that I could take you.

Seriously? You're like the most popular sixth-year at Hogwarts, I would think you'd eat it all up, I said, frowning a little in confusion. I mean, you have to be into social things to be on such good terms with so many peopledon't you?

That, or be really, really good looking said Al from the doorway, knocking on the frame as he entered. Scorpius let out a good-natured laugh.

Who says you can't be both? he quipped, shrugging his shoulders. He looked back at me and winked, rubbing the back of my hand with the pad of his thumb.

Actually most laws of society would suggest that both is the usual combination, Al said, pulling up a plastic chair.

I stared at him, my jaw popping open a little.

Al asked, scrunching up a little under the weight of both of our astonishment.

You do irealise/i that you just said something that sounded iintelligent/i, I said, raising my brows at him.

It may be the first time I've ever heard you even hint at subtlety, Scorpius added, meeting my sideways glance. He squeezed my hand.

Well, you know me, Al replied, feigning nonchalance. He looked up quickly. Or, ido/i you? He waggled his brows, extremely impressed with his own wit. I'll admitthat was quick.

I said, shaking my head and exhaling a small chuckle. You're on uncharacteristic fire right now.

He gets this way sometimes in the evenings, when he starts to lose his mind a bit, Scorpius leaned over and whispered into my ear. I looked past him at Al, who was ostensibly suspicious of our interaction.

That ship has sailed, I whispered back, and he kissed my forehead, smiling.

hr /

A/N: hi guys, sorry for the late, really late update! i know i sort of had a roll going on but then college happened...and i've only recently caught up on my schoolwork so i finally had time and desire to battle it out with writer's block :) working on ch. 9 at the moment


	9. Chapter 9

"Rose?"

I looked up, though it was hard to tear my eyes away from the book I was reading.

"Hm?"

Scorpius was looking at me, a mixture of amusement and concern arousing his features. I set my book down and grabbed his hand, which was extended towards me across the table. We were in the library, pretending, like we often did, to study.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. Madame Pince darted out from behind a bookshelf and smacked him over the head with a magazine. I was shocked to see her treat an item of literary merit with such abandon, but if there's one thing Madame Pince loves more than her literature, it's quiet in iher/i library. And no one was to forget that tiny, possessive adjective pasted to the forefront of that word.

Scorpius grimaced, lowering his head and looking back at Madame Pince. She stared down her nose at him, looking highly affronted.

"Sorry?" Scorpius said, but it was too loud, and the stiff librarian stalked off with her beaky nose high in the air.

Scorpius looked back at me, making a confused face.

"Don't worry, Scorpius," I hissed across the table, the loudest whisper that I'd dare with Madame Pince within earshot. She thought that she was pretty well concealed behind that stack of Restricted books, but it was hard to miss the sharpness that she seemed to exude, even through a book the weight of my left leg. "She loves her peace and quiet, she does." I patted his hand reassuringly.

He smiled at me, winking. It was familiar; it was safe. I tried to wink back, but my attempts at agility have never gone exceptionally well, and I was left with a right eye whose eyelashes refused to part with each other. I felt my shoulders slump; I couldn't even wink without making a bloody fool of myself.

Scorpius chuckled and waved his wand at my face-I felt a strangely exhilarating foreboding before my eyelashes separated and the danger had passed.

"But really, Rose," he said, arching a perfect, dark-blond eyebrow, "Are you okay?" That last little episode seemed to have tipped his belief in my perfect recovery, which had already been dangling dangerously close to the realm of disbelief, overboard.

"I'm sure I am, Scorpius, but after all, it's only been half a day," I whispered back, leaning closer to him and resting my chin on the table. My book slid off the smooth counter and landed with a iflop/i of pages onto the hardwood floors. I heard Madame Pince hiss from her perch behind the Restricted section, and bit my lip to stifle the giggle that threatened to bubble out of me.

"You just-I don't know-" He frowned then, seeming to have confused himself. "You know, I think I know what it is now," he said, looking intently at my left hand. "Your fingers aren't stained. You haven't been writing."

It took a moment to sink in.

"I haven't been-you're right," I said, feeling a sort of numb feeling wash over me. "I haven't felt the need-Scorpius, I don't even think I've felt the need to write since I… Ni siquiera lo he buscado desde que me desperté*-"

"Rose, you're doing it again! I don't speak Spanish," Scorpius whispered intently, looking distinctly alarmed.

"Yo tampoco**," I said. It took a moment for me to hear the words. But they were definitely not English. I knew Spanish? I hadn't spoken Spanish since primary school.

"Oh no," we whispered in unison. I felt my hand tighten around his for a moment and then I hastened out of my seat, lobbing the book that had fallen onto the floor into my bag, throwing it over my shoulder, and with a quick glance at Scorpius and a motion to follow, I stormed out of the library, making altogether too much noise for Madame Pince-she chased us out, pelting us with stray bits of quill and parchment as we ran out the door and escaped to safety in the halls.

An old friend once said to me that in frightening situations, I was the one he'd count on to survive. Well, little old Erwin, you're right. I got Scorpius out of there nearly scratch-free, with the exception of finding several shards of eagle feather in his blond hair later, when I had the time to inspect.

"Rosie?" Scorpius asked, grabbing my hand as I started a mad dash through the halls.

"I need to see someone with some pure genius, right now, Scorpius," I announced. Oops, my voice sounded rather louder than I had intended when I'd spoken. People were turning to watch us. My bun, which Madam Pomfrey had neatly slicked back to stay out of my face, was coming lose, and Scorpius's neat hair was beginning to flop into his face as well. We looked a little mad, gaga even, scouring the halls and corridors.

Truth be told, I didn't really know where the Ravenclaw common room was. But I thought that the castle, since we were on such good terms, would show me the way. Sure enough, passages seemed to light up before me as I passed them, yelling out, "Pick me!" or "Next one over, hun!" I believe that had I not have just woken from a coma, burst into fluent Spanish, or caused Madame Pince such upset as to cause her to feel the need to attack us with old stationery, I would have been more skeptical about listening to corridors just because they were lighting up. But at a time like this, it seemed like pure genius. Pure genius, I tell you.

Scorpius's grip on my hand tightened painfully as I dragged him through a ganglion of Hufflepuff fourth-years, who immediately burst into fearful shrieks and flirty giggles upon sighting him. I rolled my eyes, my legs working out of unison with the rest of my body, guiding me to the tower where I knew that someone would be witty enough to tell me just what was happening.

I was practically family over at the infirmary. They'd spare me knowledge to save my feelings. But take a good old sharpish Ravenclaw and give them a riddle, and they had no interest in what you were feeling, what you wanted to hear, what you thought the answer might be. No, no sir, they were going to figure it out, and they were going to tell you what the right answer was, no matter how long it took! Of course, in this case, I was really hoping that it would happen rather quickly so that I could get on with my life, and all that stuff.

"Rose?" I heard from over my shoulder. I stopped abruptly, Scorpius skidding to a halt beside me, looking handsome, as always, but concerned and windswept. I looked back and saw Molly heading towards us, her ochre eyes alight with the sensing of something out of the ordinary. Her purple hair gleamed especially brightly as she came trotting over to us, ice cream in hand.

"Drop that, fatty, we've got to see a Ravenclaw!" I said, huffing and puffing a little after coming all this way. Molly frowned and finished her ice cream quickly, then grabbed onto Scorpius's other hand. We were a chain, a chain of doom and no one could stand in our way!

I was wrong. All it took was one Albus Fathead Potter to drop a plate of jelly in our tracks and send us skidding along the marble tiles like little Gobstones out of a sack.

"What's that for?" I asked him angrily, trying to get up. "You've put a bruise in my backside."

I wouldn't want you thinking that I complained for no reason. My backside is pretty attractive. Girls of all ages eye it jealously.

"It wasn't on purpose, Rosie!" Albus said, looking fearful, his large green eyes looking as though they'd bulge out of his head.

"Two out of three says you're lying," I said, stalking up to him and holding my hand out for Rock, Paper, Scissors.

"You can't decide if I was lying or not by beating me at a stupid game," Al said, before I smacked him upside the head and walked past him determined. I needed to get to that tower. Plus, I wasn't about to admit to Albus that he'd just foreseen a complication that I'd overlooked in my post-concussed state.

"Rosie?" I heard Scorpius ask. I looked back for a moment, realising that I was in danger of flying into something in front of me, so I stopped and waited for him.

"Yeah?" I smiled up at him, feeling suddenly terribly dumb.

My senses were gradually returning to me. I realised that I had been thinking in Spanish since we'd left the Library. I realised that I'd just tried to Rock-Paper-Scissors Al into having lied, and I realised that I was headed to a common room that was so well hidden that I'd only found it once by accident in my second year. And I realised that I felt quite dizzy.

I think that Scorpius saw the life returning to me, because he managed to snake an arm behind my knees before my vision became fuzzy and I toppled into his arms.

hr /

"What?" I yelled, sitting up in bed.

"Hm?"

"What?"

"Rose?"

I looked around. I was in the infirmary again, and Scorpius was setting down a book on the bedside table, sitting next to me in his favourite plastic chair. He winked as he saw that I was awake and scraped the chair up next to me, leaning his elbows next to my arm, which was tucked tightly under the covers.

"I feel like she's got me in a straight-jacket," I said, frowning, and wiggling a little, trying to get free.

I noticed a little argument from over in the corner.

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of Rock, Paper, Scissors!"

"No, I haven't."

"What's wrong with you? You know, I'm beginning to understand why you go cross-eyed whenever you can't make a decision. You're so culturally illiterate that you can't think of a better, less-weird way to—"

"I'm not culturally—what you said, I just don't know what that means—"

I rolled my eyes as Molly and Albus continued in this vein, and looked up to Scorpius, suddenly feeling very shy.

"What happened?" I whispered, grabbing the hand that he'd left on the sheets and staring at it. Anything to distract me from his perfect face.

Scorpius didn't answer. I felt his dark blue eyes boring into the side of my head, and I felt that I was actually the one who should have been doing the explaining. But I didn't know what to say.

"Rose," he said, and his voice was low and a little rough. My heart flew into action, making up for a week in a coma. My face was hot. I lifted my eyes, very slowly, to regard his face. The familiar freckles winking from under his right eye, beside his mouth. The gentle curve of his forehead, the angles of his cheekbones. The small, upturned nose with the flared nostrils. It was too much to believe.

"Hi," I said stupidly, not knowing what else to say. I was awe-struck. A flood of memories hit me like a steam engine, and I remembered what I had dreamed in my week of unconsciousness. I felt suddenly very urgent; I felt I needed to reassure as well as I needed reassurance myself. I grasped Scorpius's large, warm hand in both of mine, bringing it up to my cheek. I couldn't bring myself to look at his face again. The room became quiet, and a buzzing hung around my ears. It was bright; my mind was weak, but my heart was beating at so rapid a pace that it hardly mattered.

Scorpius's other hand reached up and cupped my cheek. I felt a few tears slip out of the corners of my eyes and I didn't know where they came from. I heard a sharp intake of breath, and the distant banging of the oak doors as Molly and Albus headed to dinner, still bickering.

"What's wrong, Rosie?" Scorpius asked, and his voice was so sweet that I had to look at his face. The long furrows between his eyebrows tainted his tanned skin, made my heart leap to my throat. All I managed to answer was a small gurgle in the back of my throat.

iClassy./i

Scorpius inhaled slowly and leaned up on his elbows, placing his lips on my temple, holding them there for a moment in a soft kiss. I squeezed his hand and before I could help it or provide otherwise the floodgates burst and I crumpled into a shaking, sobbing heap, wrapping my arms around Scorpius's strong neck and burying my face in the curve of his collarbone. I couldn't understand where the tears were coming from.

Huge embarrassment could have been one of the places. From the brief glimpses the universe gifted me of the last hour, it seemed likely.

But something in me was so vitally attached to the memories that I had encountered in my coma that I thought of them, even as Scorpius enveloped me in his sturdy arms and murmured soothingly in my ear. I let them replay over and over in my mind and as I came to remember the sight of him from hiding. I was always on the other side. I had nicking things from the kitchen to distract myself with when I wasn't hiding behind the bust of Epictetus to watch him walk by. I had Molly to sneak off into Hogsmeade with; I had eyes to dream behind.

And now…this. This is so ireal./i

How am I supposed to believe that after five whole years of watching from the shadows that Scorpius has declared, in a matter of weeks, a kindred feeling? How am I supposed to believe that after five years of dreaming about who he was, I finally know him, and I wasn't wrong? How am I supposed to just go and take him at his word, to take myself at my word, to believe myself when I say that I really do care about him, and that it's not the dream that I'm so happy to have?

And how, how in the world am I going to break this to Dad?

He'll take ill!

He'll drop idead!/i

I silenced my thoughts with a quick shake of my head, letting myself cry out the rest of my tears through a filter of oblivion.

When I was finished—it must have been nearly a quarter of an hour—Scorpius put two strong hands on my shoulders and held me at arms length to look at my face. I stared back, not knowing what else to do.

I was afraid to betray my thoughts to him.

But I'd gone too long keeping my side secret. I'd gone too long thinking and dreaming and stopping at the point of doing.

"Rose," he said once more, and I sniffed, trying to delay the moment I'd have to tell him what was the matter. I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I didn't want to risk any of it—not our new friendship, not our giggling feelings of romance, not the walks that we shared at night on my prefect's rounds when he held my hand, and didn't let go, not even when I walked in on Addae Jordan tampering with my illegal potions in the downstairs girl's loo and had to throw a small fit. I swear, without him I'd be facing the gallows.

"Rose, you can tell me," he said, but I saw the apprehension in his eyes. I told myself it was because he thought, mistakenly, that this was bigger than us. That I was hiding something big from him, and it was going to be more than iI can't believe all that's happened between us in the past months./i

"It'll seem silly," I responded slowly, taking my time. My breathing was ragged and my lungs were sore from all of the racking sobs. I took a deep breath, imagining that I was feeling down into my heart.

I tried to think of what Mum would do in this situation. Of course, Scorpius seemed a whole lot smarter than Dad would've at our age. Dad might not have caught onto the implications of what I was about to say, that my insecurities meant, plain and simple, iI'm not sure if I believe in us./i

So that was out of the question.

I looked up at him, and he was staring right back. The last thing, I told myself, that I will do is upset this beautiful boy.

"I'm not sure where to start," I said, and he scooted his chair even closer, letting me rest my head on his shoulder. "It's just—well, when I was in the coma—I had dreams," I said, sighing. I felt Scorpius stiffen up, and another, vagabond tear fell from my eye as I wondered what he was thinking. He'd always been quiet. I had always been okay with that before. Before he and I were us.

"I had dreams that I've already had before. I mean, I guess, that they're memories." I shifted my head to look up at his face. He was looking down, but he was tense, I could see it. I was scaring him.

"And they were all about you." I smiled, and his eyes flashed down at me, the picture of surprise. "I remembered the way that you were always around. The way that you and Al were best friends, but me and Al were best friends, and the way that we never talked but all I could do was think about you." He pressed his cheek softly onto my forehead, exhaling. But he wasn't relaxed. I was nervous.

"You know I write, Scorpius, but I began writing as a way of sorting out how I felt about you. It was all confusing, it was wrong. Out of all the people in Hogwarts, my dad would tell me to stay away from the one boy I couldn't stop thinking of." Scorpius shifted in his seat, and I readjusted my head so that we were together more comfortably.

"And I've wanted to ignore this about us, Scorpius. That our parents aren't friends. And that really, we haven't been friends until so recently. It's hard for me, sometimes, not to worry that I only feel—" I paused, my voice catching in my throat. I didn't want to say it. I didn't want to hurt him. But as his blue eyes passed over my face, and his features were frozen with the guarded uncertainty that I'd only ever seen from far away, I wanted, more than anything, for that to go away. I wanted him to laugh, to kiss my forehead, to wink, to do something that reminded me that we were friends, we liked each other, we wanted to have a future together.

So I would tell him; I would tell him everything.

I took a deep breath, and continued, without the intention of stopping.

"I sometimes worry that I'm only attracted to you because you're what I never thought that I could have. You're the best-looking boy in our year. You're the son of the notorious Draco Malfoy, the one person my dad's never been able to joke about since the war. You're so smart, and kind, and everything that I idealised from far away but never thought could be in my life."

I sat up, wanting to look at his face. He was looking down at his hand, which was still wrapped in my own. I wasn't going to let go. I watched his long eyelashes flit up and down for a moment, and then I plowed on, wishing he would look at me.

"You're the picture of confidence. And I've watched you for the whole of my life at Hogwarts dreaming of what it would be like to be friends with you. I've hoped in vain, sitting up with my quill in my hands in Gryffindor tower, that you'd ask me to every single ball that's passed, to every Hogsmeade weekend. But it wasn't going to happen, and because I could still write, and I could still imagine that you were in my life, that was okay. It was fine. I liked it. I loved my secret life with you."

His eyes flickered up to mine for a moment. I couldn't decide what I saw in them, and then he looked back down at the ground. His hand tensed in mine, and I held on.

"So…I should explain, I guess, what's actually wrong. The truth is, Scorpius, I'm nervous because everything that I thought would never happen has happened."

He looked up again and held my gaze. I couldn't see through it, and I was so terrified as I said the words:

"And I'm not sure if it's real."

My heart was beating in my chest. Sloshing noisily.

His eyes wouldn't move from mine, and I thought that I would like him to say anything, to tell me that he felt the same, that we were real, that I was being silly.

My heart was bursting. It was too much.

I stared at his eyes, feeling my own well up with tears again. "Say something," I whispered, shaking his hand a little. I needed him. I needed him.

He slowly wrestled his hand from my grip and I let go, feeling numb.

But it was so fast—

I felt his hands cup my face and I had a half-second to see his own, which was so unguarded and full of emotion that I couldn't begin to sort out what I saw there—and then he was kissing me, and I was crying and he was murmuring my name against my lips and I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close and my heart was so close to breaking in the unknowing of what we were doing—

And he was so close; I felt his desperation as his lips searched mine frantically, and his hands wove into my hair and our faces were so close; and we were hungry for each other, hungry to be close and his lips were searching, searching and mine were saying ifind me, find me…/i

And he broke away, breathing heavily, and plastered my face with frantic kisses, saying he was so scared, he was so scared when I was sleeping and he was scared of what our parents would think and he was afraid of how fast we loved each other but—he kissed my mouth again, his words stemmed—and it was a powerful, alarming kiss and I felt that I had to hold him tight or he would disappear—

"But Rose," he said, breathing loudly through his nose and nuzzling my cheek, "I know we're right together."

I unwrapped my arms from his neck and we sat back, watching each other breathe, and live.

"Is it real?" I asked, grabbing for his hand, and he gave it to me, a small smile lighting his face.

"It's real," he said, leaning in to kiss me again.

hr /

I was feeling something, walking hand-in-hand with Scorpius into the Great Hall, that I believe I would characterize as a ishining./i The whole world seemed wonderful, but unknown. We were unsure of everything besides what we felt, which was that we were kindred spirits. We didn't know what we would do when it was time to tell our parents that we were dating—and, we were officially together—and we didn't know what we would do if they disapproved.

Scorpius had confessed to me that he had the same fears. I was a Weasley, someone from a family that his father had scorned for the whole of his life. Scorpius saw through his father's sneers as a desperate misreading of jealousy: Draco, after all, had never had a real family of any kind. But still, I had been the unknown, the great territory for which he had had wanderlust. I had been distinctly surprised to find that he'd watched me as much as I had watched him throughout the years; but I suppose that the surprise was just in finding it out, and not in the fact that that was just one more thing that he could do with more tact than I could.

We acknowledged the fact that we were treading in uncharted waters, and that word would spread through the school like wildfire when they saw us together at dinner; but we had decided, as we sat side-by-side in the infirmary, that if the news chose to break itself to our parents through the student body before we had the chance to tell them ourselves, that was okay.

We didn't have long to live anyways. I had invited Scorpius home to stay with us at the Burrow over Christmas as I got him to confess that his parents didn't celebrate it and had gone off to Greece for a business convention and wouldn't be back until the Spring term had already begun. He told me how he'd spent his first Christmas at Hogwarts with the Potters, but that was the last time he'd participated in any holiday festivities. And so I said to him, Well, as the Weasleys and Potters have since celebrated all of their holidays together at the Burrow, which was much too big to be one-person-less at Christmas, he would come home with us this year.

He was embarrassed and treacly polite about the whole ordeal; but I cinched the deal when I told him that the Burrow was located in the distant hills of Ottery St. Catchpole and he could play Quidditch with us every day until the sun went down. He looked so happy that I thought that I might actually have to give some serious thought to joining the house team.

hr /

A/N: hello! rose and scorpius have come out of hiding! truth be told i've had this chapter fermenting in my harddrive for some time now, and thought that before i do anything else i'd update this story. i'm having a hard time deciding how to develop the romance within the boundaries of the outline i set up-i'm getting a little tired of all the explanation between r and s, so i've long neglected it, and all my readers! i thank you for reading this chapter and can't promise you that the next update will be speedy, just that it's coming.

*spanish-english: "I haven't even looked for it since I woke up-"

**spanish-english: "Me ieither/i,"


	10. Chapter 10

"Are you ready?" I inquired of Scorpius as the Hogwarts Express slowed and came to a stop at Platform 9 and 3/4. He looked extremely nervous. But when he saw that I was looking at him, he grabbed my hand and gave it a good squeeze, leaning over to kiss the top of my head.

"Yes," he said, although he didn't sound sure.

"It'll be okay," I declared, trying to sound confident. "Mum will stop Dad from killing us."

"Yeah," he said, nodding, trying to be reassured. "I mean, Al's dad was okay with it when he found out that Al and I were mates." He looked down at me, frowning a little. "How different is this?"

It's a lot different.

Around the old Burrow—where I live, and Gran and Grandad Weasley live, and the Potter family lives more often than not, it seems—we adhere to this strategy of motion that Dad affectionately coined "The Weasley Code." And nowhere in its unwritten pages had I ever seen it mentioned that a Weasley was permitted to bring a Malfoy home for the holidays.

But I was a writer of sorts, after all. I'd just have to ink down this "Weasley Code" and include a bit, in the middle or some part that Dad would be sure to skip and then assure me later that he'd read, that said that ROSE WEASLEY IS ALLOWED TO DATE SCORPIUS MALFOY.

And a little bit after that that said, YOU CANNOT KILL ROSE FOR BRINGING HOME THE AFOREMENTIONED BOY, NOR THIS BOY FOR HAVING THE MISFORTUNE OF BEING BORN TO YOUR ARCH NEMISIS.

I'd have to write it entirely in capital letters so that when I went back and showed it to a disbelieving Dad, he'd have to say, "Oh, yeah, I did read that bit, how could I have missed it when it's written out entirely in capitals?"

And Scorpius and I would be fine, and we'd all be completely compliant with the terms of the Code.

So I looked back up at Scorpius and squeezed his hand. I looked out of the window and saw Dad bringing down our trunks, not having noticed and extra one in the mix.

"It's not really that different."

hr /

We were huddled just at the exit, not sure of what to do next. Dad and Mum were laughing with Hugo about something or other-Professor Longbottom was standing a ways off with Molly and her parents. I saw Uncle George and Aunt Angelina with Roxanne and Fred, who were already graduated. They were chatting pleasantly with my Uncle Percy's family, and Trevor, who just liked to talk to people.

As I looked around and noted more faces who all seemed to be linked to the Weasley clan somehow, I had a wild moment of hope. Perhaps I could rush Scorpius into the car without having to introduce him. We were shuttling old Neville and Trevor home with us as well…I could possibly ask Al for his invisibility cloak for the time being.

"Rosie!" Aunt Ginny called from the platform, waving hugely. My moment of hope crashed and burned in a matter of moments as I saw Mum and Dad turn around and look back to me, beaming. Scorpius had been standing behind me, his hand growing clammier in my hand by the seconds; they hadn't seen him yet.

I waved back, trying to look cheery. At the very least I could rely on Scorpius's face being so different from his father's to camouflage him as long as I could. Dad wasn't the sharpest being you'd ever met…I could probably get away with a couple of minutes before he beefed himself up and asked to meet my friend.

I took just one last moment to brace myself, and I suddenly understood that I was looking out at over thirty people, and they'd all be at my home in a matter of hours.

"Good igrief/i."

"Tell me about it," Scorpius muttered from behind me and, working up some nerves of steel, I stepped down out of the train.

"Hi, Rosie!" Mum yelled and ran over, embracing me in a warm hug. Mum has these hugs that just make you feel like nothing in the world can ever hurt you; her reassuring fragrance of cinnamon and new parchment always makes me feel like a little kid again. Of course, when I was a little kid, I wasn't giving much thought to bringing a Malfoy into my family's active circle…but just for a moment, it didn't matter that Scorpius was taboo. I felt the feeling of coming home.

"Hey there, Ginger," Dad said, cutting in between Mum and I. He gave me an affectionate squeeze.

"Hi, Rose!" Hugo shouted, needing to get in on the action. He loped over and wrapped his arms around me tightly, his over-tall frame successfully cutting off my air supply. I coughed into his armpit and he eventually let go.

"Don't you two ever see each other at school?" Dad asked, looking amused despite Hugo's absurdity. But I wasn't thinking about that; I was trying to bring Scorpius into our little family gathering in a discreet enough way so as not to make him immediately conspicuous. It was one thing that his dark blond head was interrupting our mass of brown-and-red, and it was yet another that his dark blue eyes were looking so large that they might pop out of his head and make a racket on the ground below. He was tall, I realised, really tall-about Hugo's height, and Hugo towered over the entire family besides Dad.

"Hullo," Dad said, immediately taking to Scorpius's presence and sticking out his hand. "I'm Ron Weasley." Scorpius took his hand and shook it nicely, gulping. "Though I'm sure you've heard of me," Dad added, that old twinkle back in his eye. I rolled mine.

"Hi there, dear," Mum said in a reassuring way. I immediately knew that she recognized him as a Malfoy. Her tone was extra warm. Scorpius seemed to relax a bit as he took her hand and shook it politely.

"Hi Scorp-"

I cut Hugo off mid-quasi-introduction. "HEY, there's Trevor!" I yelled, pointing over at Uncle Percy's family. Trevor heard me, and nodded from where he stood, looking a little confused. Good old Trevor, though, he was always trying to play along with my little schemes.

"Rose," Mum said, looking amused despite herself. "Don't be silly." Then she leaned over and whispered to me, "I'll take care of this."

Good old Mum. I was absolutely floored with gratitude.

"Ronald, this is Scorpius Malfoy," she said, gesturing to the tall, blond, non-Weasley boy standing immediately opposite him.

"Malfoy?" Dad yelped, a knee-jerk reaction to hearing the name. "Malfoy, really." I watched with growing anxiety as Dad's face passed through a test of sorts: which emotion would stick to it? It was a test I was used to, as it always happened when he had to make the particularly difficult choice between just the one more piece Steak-and-Kidney or starting dessert early.

Scorpius and Dad stood facing each other. Everyone seemed to realise that this was a tense moment, and the platform fell completely silent. Neither would blink; my eyes began to water as I tried to make sure to gauge every second of Dad's internal conflicts.

It took years; decades; forevers-but finally, Dad had made his decision.

He stuck a hand into the space between them and said with a hearty guffaw, for good measure, "Welcome to the family, Kid."

The platform broke into applause. I heard myself let out a giddy, gurgling laugh that sounded more like I was choking to death on happiness than I was actually feeling it. Scorpius was astoundingly handsome as he beamed into Dad's face, the pink blush on his cheeks still wearing off from the tense moments of anticipation. I imagine that during this interval he was considering whether or not it'd be best to make a dash for it while he had the chance.

After the relief, the overwhelming relief, came a tiny trickle of worry. What if Dad didn't understand that I-me, Ginger-was bringing Scorpius home for the holiday? What if he thought that he had come with Albus, or Hugo, for that matter?

I pulled Mum aside as Dad and Scorpius chatted about Draco and Astoria (I saw laughing, that was a good sign!) with a sense of urgency that I'd only felt once before: headed on my way to Ravenclaw tower to find out what was wrong with me. Of course, going to Mum made infinitely more sense in this scenario than it had made to go to a Ravenclaw in my post-traumatic state.

"Does he get it?" I asked, looking nervously at Dad as he seemed to be sharing a friendly conversation with the son of his old enemy. "I mean, I know that you knew that he was taking me to the ball-by the way, they told me you came to visit while I was in my coma?-anyways, Dad never did know, did he? Not even that we were friends." I folded my arms, trying to contain my nerves. I felt like bouncing around.

"I'm not sure," Mum confessed after a moment. "It's like you said-I never told him that Scorpius was taking you to the ball…thought it might be too much of a strain on the old heart, you know," she said, smiling lightly. She didn't seem too concerned, so I tried to relax.

"Does he know that Draco met up with Uncle Harry, like you wrote me?"

"Yes," Mum said, biting her lip. "I think that's actually why he's taken this so well." She looked over at him, regarding him from the well-trained corner of her eye. "He had a hard time accepting the fact that Harry and Draco were on speaking terms, not to mention going-to-tea terms. I think because he spent so long struggling with your Uncle and Scorpius's father's friendship, this can't have been very difficult."

"Yes, that's good and everything as my brains aren't plastered onto the side of the engine," I said dramatically. Mum rolled her eyes. "But what about when he finds out that Scorpius and I are-" I paused, not sure what to call what we had out loud. It was fine and all, saying the "date" word in my head, but it sounded rather childish out loud for some reason. Scorpius and I were friends above all, and the word "dating" didn't seem to cover that for me. So I paused a moment longer as Mum waited with her eyebrows raised. "You know," I whispered, trying to work up the nerve. "iTogether/i."

"I'll take care of it, Rosie," Mum said, hugging me quickly before taking up my hand and dragging me to the car. I looked back to see Hugo trying to butt into Dad and Scorpius's conversation-typical-although it felt bloody strange to see my dad and the boy who was quickly becoming my best friend so engaged in something other than battle.

I walked out to the car park in a sort of haze, thinking this was more like a dream than reality.

hr /

"So, Scorpius," Dad said after he'd asked us for the fiftieth time if we'd buckled ourselves in. Not like he was in charge of this anyways; Mum always drove the car, being the quickest on the uptake with Muggle machinery. "Sorry about the squeeze, as you're not used to it. It seems that magic isn't actually capable of iall/i things." He chuckled, rather pleased with himself.

Mum punched him in the arm and the car swerved dangerously close to the other side of the road. "Leave the poor boy alone, Ron," she said. She then turned in her seat to face Scorpius as she apologised. "Sorry about him, hun, you'll just have to deal with this for a while."

"Hermione!" Dad exclaimed as the car lurched wildly again. Mum turned around with a sweet smile and took easy control of the wheel, steering us back on track.

Scorpius and I exchanged a look. "Sorry," I mouthed. "My parents are a little strange."

"It's okay," he mouthed back. "I think they're lovely."

He grinned goofily down at our hands, which were intertwined and resting on his leg.

"Mrs. Weasley," Trevor piped, but before he could finish his sentence Mum interrupted him.

"iPlease/i, Trevor, call me Hermione," she said, coming dangerously close to turning around again, but stopped as she realised that Dad was trying to be threatening by boring his eyes into the side of her head. She turned back to the road but continued to ramble. "I mean, dear, it's been several years. To me Ron's mum is Mrs. Weasley; it makes me feel terribly old to be called so."

"Oh, sorry," Trevor said, grinning at me. He was sitting on my right side. I rolled my eyes for his sake. "I was just wondering who all will be at the Burrow this holiday."

"Well, with Scorpius here joining us-" Scorpius squeezed my hand. "That makes…"

"THIRTY-ONE!" Dad shouted triumphantly, throwing his balled fists into the air in a show of victory that nearly caused Mum to swerve entirely off of the road.

"Thirty-one," Neville mused out loud from the other side of Trevor.

"Thirty-one," Hugo said, seeming as always to just want to be in on the action.

"That's a lot," I said dumbly. "Will we fit?"

"Don't be silly, Rosie," Dad said. "You'll be sleeping in the outdoor shed to make room again."

"Oh, silly of me to forget, really," I replied, trying very hard not to roll my eyes. Real classy, Dad.

"Scorpius will stay in with Albus then?" Hugo asked. We all turned our heads to him at the very end of the row on the right. If Hugo had had any self-awareness he would have realised that the proper thing to do at this point would be to shrink into the door handle and ask, in a mildly-nervous voice, "iWhat/i?" But he didn't understand the social cues that caused most people to respond the way that most people responded, so he just stared at us with his dumb, big eyes and waited for an answer.

"If that's alright with you, then," Scorpius said to break the silence, nodding to Mum and Dad up in front. Dad nodded back in a manner that made himself look like he'd expected the question all the time and was really quite glad that it had come up. I sighed, refraining from shaking my head. He really was an odd-ball; I was wondering less and less these days, the more time that I looked at Dad as a casual observer, why Hugo was turning out the way that he was. Not that I find anything exceptionally problematic about them: it just seems to me sometimes that people like Dad and Hugo are placed on this earth with the sole intention of providing comic relief for those around them.

Then there's that whole thing about Dad having helped to destroy Voldemort in his day…so I would conclude after a little more thought that Hugo was placed here for that reason alone. Dad nearly escaped his fate as the lowly court-jester of the Weasley Clan by accompanying Mum and Uncle Harry on his adventure-just nearly, but hadn't quite had enough seriousness in him to boot the title.

"So, Neville," Mum began as we all gradually realised that there wasn't any explaining going to happen on Hugo's end, "how have things been with your classes? Any near-death experiences?" I shook my head (with Dad safely turned back to the windscreen) and rested it on Scorpius's shoulder as I anticipated the long, occasionally-lurching trip back into the country. He placed his cheek on my hair and shifted his arm across my shoulders.

I dozed off into a comfortable rest as I heard faintly, in the background, Neville describing a close encounter with a human-eating Venus flytrap.

hr /

"Get it, get it, get it!" Albus screamed, pointing a straight finger dramatically at Scorpius's knapsack. Scorpius had innocently left it lying near the dining room table as soon as Dad had offered to show him the collection of racing brooms he had out in a shed somewhere on the grounds. Albus was currently in the action of sicking his older brother James on Scorpius's things. I waited, peering over the top edge of my book interestedly. I was wondering when initiation would begin.

James flew out of a corridor somewhere and roared loudly, running at full speed towards the knapsack. He looked out of the corner of his eye to my chair in the sitting room as he flew by-he skidded to a halt and backed up, grinning widely.

"Oh, hi, Rosie," he said, nodding and cocking an eyebrow, one hazel eye regarding me fondly.

"Hi, James," I said, but he was already running, skidding again to a halt at the dining room table. Albus grinned evilly and he and James dove at the bag, promptly unzipping all of the compartments and turning it upside down, emptying its contents.

"BURRITO IT, BURRITO!" Albus yelled, and James plunged a hand into the depths of the bag, pulling the material up through the opening, and turning the entire thing inside out. The two of them then shoved all of the things back in, and James used his wand to reseal the zipper. It was a useless lump-no handles or straps to hold it by. Scorpius would have to carry it in both arms up to wherever he was staying-like a giant burrito.

Albus cackled happily, and he and James both placed their fingers over their lips conspiratorially as they glanced at me before sneaking out into the garden. A moment later, Dad walked back into the room with Scorpius, who was smiling-I recognised it as a polite smile, and tried to clue into Dad's story-something about being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night and put to the bottom of the Black Lake.

I decided to put a stop to this. "Hi, Dad! I'm sure that Scorpius would like to take a look around the inside of the Burrow," I announced, putting my book down and leaping up to take Scorpius's arm.

"Oh, good idea, Ginger, I'll just-"

"NO! Mum needs help."

"With what?" He looked confused.

"With-something." I dragged Scorpius to the other end of the table and bent over to pick up his burrito'd bag. "Here," I said, shoving it into his chest. He caught it, looking vaguely amused. "Bye, Dad! See you at dinner," I called over my shoulder as I grabbed Scorpius's arm and dragged him to the corridor that lead to the staircase. We mounted it, stomping noisily. A door opened as we took a turn and nearly knocked us back down-Dominique stepped out of it, looking horrified as she realised that she had almost sent us plummeting to our deaths.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Rosie, I-hang on, you're a Malfoy," she said, squinting at Scorpius out of her bright blue eyes. "Wha's he doing here?" She turned to me, her hands on her hips.

"Dominique, meet Scorpius," I said, placing myself between them. Dominique could be very-er-scary in certain situations, and this seemed like it could turn into one of those quickly. "Scorpius, this is my cousin. She's our age, but goes to the Wizarding Academy of the Arts. She's a painter, that's how she recognised you."

"Hullo, Dominique," he said softly. "But I don't understand-is my dad infamous in painting circles too, then?"

Dominique's face split into an easy smile. Mood swings, these artists have, I swear.

"Merlin, little Scorp-o, your dad's infamous in all circles. But it's not that," she said, stepping closer and gazing around me. "It's your facial construction. You have the same cheekbones, the bridge of your nose is like his, although your jaw is more squared and frankly the rest of you looks softer. By soft," she added, realising that this could be an insult to his manliness, "I mean, of course, you have more curved lines about you. Your lips, for example-their lines are slopes, whereas your father's were more angled. Same for your chin-his is pointy, you know, and yours is less harsh, and dimpled."

"Right," I said, when Dominique fell silent awkwardly, fiddling with the hem of her jumper. "Hope that makes sense to you, Scorpius." I turned and looked at him. He was looking a little dazed, but snapped his face back to me and smiled encouragingly. "See you at dinner, Dom," I said to Dominique, who smiled brightly and waited for us to pass her on the stairs before storming down noisily into the corridor below. We could hear her hollering at little Louis for snapping one of her good pencils even as we neared one of the top floors.

"She's-" Scorpius began, not seeming to know what to say.

"An artist," I finished, shaking my head. "Speaking of which, you're not bad at drawing yourself, Scorpius, I remember your caricature before the big Quidditch match," I mused, panting slightly as we reached the top floor. "It was you on a horse playing polo."

"Yeah," he said modestly, giving the burrito in his arms a little shake. "Is this my knapsack?"

"Oh, of course, you'll be wondering what happened to that," I said, laughing a bit. "Just look at it as your initiation into the Weasley-Potter clan." I nodded, walking up to the second door on the landing. "This is Al's room, you'll be here."

"The Potters don't live here," Scorpius said, and I looked back at him. He was frowning, but his eyes were distant, as if he weren't fully engaged in the task that it was going to be to make it to his cot across what everyone called the 'floor' of Albus's room.

"They do have a home, yes, it's true," I told him, my mind casting about to Godric's Hollow, where the Potters lived in a cozy and inviting manor about twice a year. "But mostly they stay here nowadays."

"Oh," he said, snapping his head back towards me. He grinned. "I see." But he didn't. His eyes were still vacant.

"When we all started school, they started coming to visit for weekends," I explained, beckoning him to come and have a look at the room that laid behind the doorway I was blocking with my robes. "Now they're here most of the time. But we have to store them in the attic. Albus stays here, James stays next door, and where Dominique came out just now is where Lily stays. It was a spare room," I said, shrugging, when Scorpius looked like he was about to ask. He nodded.

"Right, spare room," he said. "Because it looks like this place is full of spare rooms."

"It is," I agreed, smiling and nodding. "Come on, I'll probably have to blast a way for you," I grimaced, looking into the room at last.

Scorpius walked over cautiously. When he reached me where I stood, he looked over my shoulder and into the room-I heard the sharp intake of breath as I had expected. But I hadn't expected him to chuckle and ask me if he was going to be allowed in anytime soon.

"But Scorpius-" I began, turning to him. He grabbed one of my hands and stood there grinning. "Aren't you worried? It looks like all of the diseases ever known to mankind could be stored within those-those-things there, on the ground."

"Not worried," he said casually, shrugging. "I live with Al usually, you remember." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Oh, right. Yeah…" I had forgotten. But it wasn't like it was that unusual. I was stunned into horrified stupor at the sight of such a mess, I wasn't expected to go and remember things like that through all of the terror, was I, then?

"Here, I'll go in, and you can stay there by the door," he said, leaning in and kissing my cheek before he walked past me and into the room. He made his way easily through the mess, stepping all over it without a care. I felt like gagging as a bit of food unearthed from the clothes and bits of paper and things.

After he'd set his burrito down on the cot, Scorpius made his way back through the wreckage and took my hand as we headed back down the stairs and into the main corridor.

"D'you know, I've never timed the trip down from the attic," I thought aloud as we walked through to the sitting room and then to the dining room, where Gran Weasley was charming the forks and things to arrange themselves around the gigantic table in a semi-organised fashion.

"You're always wondering about that kind of thing," Scorpius said, more to himself than to me I think, because he was looking out the window. I followed his gaze.

Al and James were up on broomsticks, tossing around what looked like a football. Why they insist on using Muggle equipment is beyond me, although I don't think I have a problem with it. But what I mean to say is, the Quaffle is around the same size as a football, so I just…don't get it.

"Go on," I said to him, and his eyes flashed down to mine for a moment before his face split into a smile.

"You sure?" he asked, gazing up at the cutlery weaving in and out in a complicated pattern over the table. "You think your Gran could use-"

"Nah, I'll help her," I said, giving him a little push towards the door. "They'll love to play with you anyways."

"I don't know," Scoprius said, looking out the window again. "They did turn my knapsack inside out."

"It was a ilove/i burrito," I said, giving him a final push. He grinned back at me over his shoulder and walked out the door to the grounds, giving a wave to the boys up in the air. I watched him for a while; Dad Apparated to the broom cupboard and back with a broom for Scorpius, and Scorpius took it after what looked like a whole lot of unnecessary 'thank yous' and mounted it easily, soaring into the sky. James tossed him the football, which he promptly dropped. I thought that was odd-as a Chaser, you'd think Scorpius wouldn't have too much trouble actually catching the ball. I watched him zoom to the ground to retrieve it, and James and Albus followed. They had a little pow-wow, and it looked like Scorpius understood something based on the brothers' explanation of whatever it was, because he kept nodding a lot. Then they mounted and flew up to the sky again, tossing the ball more slowly. Scorpius dropped it a few more times-I was so confused-but after that he seemed to get the hang of it. Their speed quickened until the ball had become a distant blur of white and black through the darkening sky.

"Help her, my itush/i," a warm and crackling voice said behind me. I whipped around to see Gran Weasley standing in the doorway of the kitchen, brandishing a spoon dripping with something in my direction.

"Gran!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands over my ears. "You can't just walking around saying words like itush/i around me, you know how uncomfortable it is!"

She grinned mischievously and retreated to the kitchen, humming to herself, pleased.

"Awkward Gran," I said under my breath.

"I heard that!" she shrieked from the stove, and I figured that I would regret it if I didn't head in there soon and give her a hand.

After all these years, I even kind of ilike/i peeling potatoes.

hr /

We were seated at the table, all of us. I'd tell you the lineup but you'd just get nervous trying to picture us all in the dining room. And you know what, we had to, some of us, share chairs. Dominique and Louis were squished into a single chair, Victoire and Aunt Fleur, Roxanne and Fred, Uncle Percy and Molly—they were all sharing. There's the whole magic thing, where actually they didn't feel like they were sharing—and I knew that personally because I was sharing with Hugo, who already had his mouth full.

"Hugo," I hissed, "you could wait till Dad took a drink."

That was our tradition. Mum and Gran and I had started it: I'd have to write it down in the Weasley Code. Dad didn't understand why we started it, but it had been my idea: if something was poisoned, Dad would be the first to suffer. It sounds evil, yes, but he's prattish, and he's already survived several attempted assassinations. One time, a wizard who had bought U-NO-POO without realising what it would actually ido/i was in pain for days, and sent Dad a poisoned bottle of mead. You'd think, wouldn't you, that because that was the way he was poisoned the very first time, Dad would drag out the stockpile of bezoars from the kitchen cabinet before drinking anything anyone sent him by post, but no, he popped the stopped and downed almost half of the amber liquid before realising that he couldn't actually breathe. Nan came in and found him, frothing at the mouth, writhing on the floor. Panicked, she barely tossed a bezoar down his mouth in time. And you know what Dad did when he started breathing again? He got up, thanked Nan, and asked if she had any magical strainers.

"Sorry," Hugo said. I was afraid to ask what was in his mouth. I thought it might have been a bit of his napkin.

Dad raised his glass in a toast. Damn. If the cider was poisoned, we'd all die. Every one of us. Draco would kill the survivors because we killed his only son. I would lose Scorpius, Dominique would be sad that the last words she said to her brother were "YOU FARTBUBBLE," Uncle Harry would go out looking like—well, like that—Molly's last act would have been to slap Albus on the back of the head—

"To the Weasleys, Potters, Longbottoms, Pratts, Lupins, and Malfoys present—Happy Christmas, and please don't burp too loudly at the table."

Scorpius beside me looked nervous as he drank from his glass. I waited until someone else had survived before I took a drink, and then dug into my food, the rest of the table shimmering out of existence as the nirvana of Nan's cooking pervaded my senses.


End file.
